[Next stop, Memory Lane and Nostalgia Avenue]
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah…
Loved that smell. Takes me back to third grade - the teachers would ask one of us to take the ‘ditto sheets’ to the ofice where the secretary would run them off – this was in the dark ages when the copy machine (expensive to run) was used for administrative business and student worksheets were run off on the mimeograph machine (cheaper to run).
Fer those of you young’uns out there, the ‘ditto paper’ was a sheet of thick white paper with a very plasticky feel to it. It was attached (perforated at the top for ‘easy’ (HA!) tearing) to a sheet coated with trasfer ink - usually blue, but sometimes red or green. All this was protected by a thin sheet of brown onion skin paper between the two to avoid premature transfer.
Remove the inner protective sheet, write what you needed to**, replace the protective sheet, and then bring the whole thing to the office for the secretary to run off.
(** - whoops! Did you make a mistake? Grab the razor blade and scritch out the offending error, leaving behind a large blue smudge, no matter how careful you were. If you were lucky you had a bottle of white-out or a piece of scotch tape, but the paper just wouldn’t copy correctly with it. If you made lots of mistakes, grab a new one, but remember, you have a very small supply of sheets per teacher.)
In the main office, the mimeograph machine was a small monster - a paper tray connected to a rotating drum, with a huge rotary dial on the side, set from 1 - 100 (finger hole for every five copies. with teeny (and I do mean teeny) hatch marks. Looked like a huge snail, ran faster and louder than one.
Remove the thick paper, clamp it to the drum, wrong side out (otherwise you do not get the imprinting and end up looking like a dork in front of the office staff), dial up the number of copies (hoping like hell you dialed the intermediary button correctly, and don’t EVEN think of using the ‘continuous’ mode when the secretary was in the ofice), press the rocker switch and stand back.
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
*** KAH-CHUNK***
This thing was LOUD and sounded like it was about to break. In our office, you had to shut down the machine if the secretary was on the phone so she could hear.
Also on this contraption was a small clear bubble with a colored bead bouncing about in a clear liquid, much like the bubble on a level. No idea what this was for, but the bead burbled happily, making a very soft buh-buh-dub-buh-dub-bub-duh-buh-bub- as it jostled about.
But back to the point, the transfer paper and the final product both ended up with a weird formaldahydey odor, very permeating, almost like brand new carpeting. Oh, the rapture of being the child who was sent to the office to pick up the armload of worksheets for class, especially when the papers weren’t quite done when you got there and had to wait. The main paper was on top, ink side up, so as to not smudge the top worksheet, ad the whole stack was a mimeograph junkie’s dream. I achieved Nirvana many times in the halls of Lakeland Elementary, and had nice chats with Gawd on my slow trek back to class. Damn, those were the days. Mimeograph paper smell.
And rubber cement smell. But that’s another thread.