Excuse me, ma’am, but it is not my bouncy castle. I inflate and supervise. I do not own.
As for this smell to which you are referring, I take offense.
Would I or someone of my sort come to your place of employment and speak with such utter condescension?
I do not believe I would.
For you to suggest that there is some foul smell, some out-of-place odor inside this inflatable castle, a place where children achieve for the briefest of moments both weightlessness and unadulterated joy, is completely inappropriate.
It defies the very mores we, as a decent society, hold to be invaluable.
However, if I were to wager a guess at this, I shall call it aroma, I would say perhaps that it is egg salad, or vomit, or some mixture of the first in the latter.
Perhaps it is the sublime and heartbreaking notion of virginity that eludes you and has since your youth when, I imagine, you traded it away for a promise of love not worth the price of the meal that it followed.
