I got on the train after work, as I always do, and as the train filled up, somebody was stuck sitting next to me. She sat there for a few minutes, then suddenly got up and switched to another available seat. And I can’t help going nuts wondering why.
Okay, I’m large. This is not news to the longtime reader of this blog. Actually, it probably is, because usually I use the word “fat” to describe my carriage. However, I have been forbidden from using this term by powers more formidable and sexually attractive than you could ever comprehend. Consequently, I’m going with “large,” and with that said, it’s not surprising that somebody might be irritated by my wideness and move to a seat next to a smaller person. However, this woman was quite petite, so I don’t think that was necessarily the problem.
I’ve been deeply concerned about what foul stench I may be emitting as a result of nine-to-fiving it, as I have been for a long time this semester. I’m no heathen; I shower at least once a day, and I use an inordinate amount of deodorant, et cetera. I’m generally cleanly, and I’m pretty anal (heh, heh) about it.
However, I’m large. Because of this, I find it difficult to perform such basic tasks as walking up a flight of stairs or sitting down without sweating profusely. Sweat doesn’t exactly smell good, and it clings to the body, dries up, and—I imagine—terrible smells ensue. Since I’ve been riding the train at rush-hour, when riders are able to get up close and personal with odors they’d generally live without smelling, I am very familiar with the fat-man stench. It’s that oily combination of sizzling pork and gaping, red assholes that damn near makes me throw up.
But wouldn’t I be able to smell it if I were producing such an odor? I’m not so sure. It’s like George Carlin says: “Your own farts don’t smell so bad, but if it’s someone else, you’d be running to Bensonhurst.” I have to believe this principle also applies to body odors. It’s all about chemistry, man, and my fat-man (er, large-man) chemistry says, “You smell like bacon no matter how much you wash.”
So what do I do about it?
Lose weight? Yeah, I’m trying, but the Sausage Egg McMuffins won’t cooperate.
Figure out a method of showering before getting on the train in the evening? Okay, that’s not going to happen. Shut up, me.
Perhaps I should just live with the curse of the large man, wedged into a seat next to another fat man whose odor makes me want to tear out my nose and tongue.