TROUBL

What’s that….eww…what’s that smell? Yesterday I was riding the metro as I normally do; attempting to take up as much room as possible with my iPod on full blast. When, for no immediately obvious reason, an older woman, somewhat resembling Martin Lawrence in Big Momma’s House, decided to take the seat next to me.

Now, I’m not rude. In fact, I like to think of myself as the quintessential southern gentlemen. So, immediately I moved my bag so that this incredibly obese woman could sit down, but in doing so, also took the liberty to scan the plethora of other seating options available to this large woman. Nonetheless, I sat there contemplating how rude it would be for me to attempt to slide my leg from under the left side of her thigh and jump from the small corner that had once been a whole seat, it hit me. What the…?! Eww! I couldn’t help but stare at this point.

Angry that I’d not only given up my personal sanctuary, but even more perturbed that out of all the other open seats her big ass passed just to share mine, I’d had enough. I began looking around the train, just to see if anyone else was showing any signs of disgust. I didn’t want to accuse this woman of being the source of such a terrible odor when it may very well have been some other thing discomforting the whole train. My scan produced nothing, and I was convinced that this was an isolated problem.

Immediately my mind went over the many ways to resolve this issue:

A. I could move. But then what would that really solve other than my immediate comfort? I’d still be traumatized by the smell and the weight of that incredibly obese cellulite-filled thigh as it engulfed my own.

B. I could tell her about herself. This would potentially cause her to reevaluate her life, take more pride in her hygiene and perhaps save many people from similar discomfort in the years to come; or it could ultimately result in this big ass woman kicking my ass on the metro, not really something I want to explain to the police at the union station stop. “No sir, all I said was could you please wear more deodorant when you ride the train, you too big to be on here sleeveless in the summertime with out it.”

C. I could sit there and suffer. This just wasn’t an option for me. Foul- smells are difficult to deal with in general, but when you know the smell originates from another human being it’s perhaps the most disgusting thing ever.

Seriously, I think they could just use this big sweaty woman at Guantanamo and leave all the water boarding stuff alone.

I did what I had to do. Ding. “Doors opening on the left side; we are now approaching New York Ave and Gallaudet University, thank you for riding the metro.” That was my cue. I politely turned to this woman, who somewhere in between the China town and Metro center stops I’d affectionately named Bertha, and asked to be excused. As I stepped out of the train I turned my head back to the seat, as if under some weird Stockholm syndrome spell, examining the place of my capture and the fonder times shared there before my evil captor had made it unbearable. And I noticed something. This big chick was staring at me! Wait…what…eww…This big chick just winked at me! Could that seriously have been why amidst all the open seats, her large sweaty behind had chosen to sit next to me? The thought disgusted me, but was the only rational conclusion I could draw. What on God’s green earth would give anyone the impression that sitting on top of someone on the metro whilst smelling of hot garbage was the way to their heart?

Anyway, I had to share this with you all. A-Man asks what is it with people who attempt to swoon when they’re not at their best? I’m the type of guy who won’t approach a woman if I haven’t had a haircut, or my shoes or outfit are sub- par (all rare occurrences). Do you feel that it’s acceptable to holler whenever? I’ve been told that you had to take advantage of opportunity when it strikes so you should just talk to people because you never know what could happen. But seriously, do we really believe this? How many women are going to be receptive to the janitor who just got off work and is riding the train home in the same stanky uniform he was scrubbing toilets in? Should they even have to be?

Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance. I’m a firm believer in this mantra. If you aren’t prepared to make a good first impression, you won’t. Carpe diem means nothing if you didn’t prepare for today yesterday. But that’s just my opinion, what’s yours?