Smell Check

I am mid flight in the midst of a nostril assault of felonious proportions.

There is a stench that has filled this cabin since I arrived. I can’t figure out if it’s a left over body odor from a Trans Atlantic flight to New Delhi or the guy next to me with chronic halitosis.

Whatever the origin, I feel like I’m about to gag and I’m going to scream “Somebody take a sponge bath!” My nose is experiencing an olfactory carpet bombing. It’s so steady and consistent; the smell is part of every inward breath I take.

I’m thinking about forgoing oxygen for three hours. Simple nose breathing causes torturous pain. The CIA should drop water boarding from their repertoire and implement a plan that has a prisoner share a pup tent with a hobo drenched in cat piss. If I were a potential terrorist, I’d rat out every Al Qaeda operative rather than endure stink like this.

I know my wife is pregnant and I may have added a few compassion pounds, but I was not aware a husband could also adopt the sensitivity to odor an expectant mother has. Guess I’ll be quick on the draw when our little boy has a diaper load to clean.
… Just got back from the airplane toilet. I spent a few more minutes than usual, because it was actually an improvement over my situation in that seat. I stood in the 3 by 3 lavatory thinking, “2B or not 2B. That is the question.”

…Three hours later and it’s no better either. I can’t sleep. It’s impossible to read. All the words from Shakespeare himself could not distract me from this miserable feeling.

I’m beginning to think it must be some sort of cosmic payback for the times I passed gas and was uproariously amused when I watched someone gasp and scream upon first discovery of the wafting presence of what was once cooking inside my lower intestine.
Yep. This is payback I’ll betcha.

… Hour four and I got it. It’s the guy next to me! He’s clean cut in pressed Van Heusen office clothing which brings me to the conclusion that it’s not the arm pits. This guy has death breath! This rotten, wretched, reeking, raunchy, rancorous smell is coming from 2A, who is now sleeping with his head tilted my way from an extra boost of carbon dioxide flavor. Talk about invading air space.

Curiously, I just peeked at his left hand and saw he has a wedding ring. Someone actually said “I do” to this latrine-lunged guy and has been up close and personal with Swamp Thing.

I had an old buddy, Howard, who had a similar disorder where the combination of chewed food and exhaling made for a lethal cocktail. I actually fixed him up with a friend of mine and was tempted to paste the warning label on him but refrained.

She married him. Ten years later I still wonder whether his condition improved or she became desensitized to it. He makes a lot of money so maybe she turns her head (literally) to it. Talk about the sweet smell of success.

Back to my flying partner. I thought I’d be used to it by now, yet I believe a tenured mortician could not survive this.

I tend to be an optimist and look for the good in everything and everyone. And that is the case here in this enclosed cabin of re-circulated bear bile.

When I land, I will submit to the patent office a device that will solve this problem of offensive shared space – a tiny deodorizer that emits a pleasant scent of choice and is temporarily glued on the space between your nostrils and mouth.

Let’s call it a “lip top.”

We have breath mints, sprays and gum to protect others from passing out from our personal rot gut, well what product do we have that keeps the unpleasant from storming our castle?

They say the best offense is a good defense, so the “Liptop” is just the perfect invention to keep you out of an aroma coma.

You heard it here first. The “Liptop” is coming to an airport gift shop near you.

Patent pending.