He looked kind of strange from the moment I laid eyes on him. He sat at the edge of the aisle, in the large plane that would soon be taking off across the Atlantic.
My family was on an international flight to Amsterdam last summer, and I was beyond excited. . . mostly because I'd be on an airplane. Why?
I love flying on airplanes.
Strange but true. There's something totally invigorating about the whole flying experience: airports, bustling people, excitement, business suits, briefcases, departures, arrivals, free peanuts.
In my travels around the US, I've had some pretty interesting flights, but international voyages have proved to be a bit more eventful.
So as I slid into the seat, with my older brother and younger right behind me, I couldn't help but size up the man who would be sitting on my left.
He sat, motionless, wearing nothing but black from head to toe. Black shoes, pants, short-sleeved collared shirt. Even his watch was an industrious shade of charcoal. He had a medium, square build, short hair, and tanned skin. But what really got me were his sunglasses: a pair of shiny, square shades, which made me totally unable to read anything in his expression or body language. Which I have a habit of doing, so this was fairly unsettling, because the man wasn't moving a single muscle.
I buckled into my seat, chirping away as my older brother pretended to listen, and kept a wary eye on the man. He'd have to move sometime. Five minutes passed. Nothing.
But after a few more moments, something caught my attention. Or at least my nose's attention.
"Hey," I said, leaning over to my brother. "Did you forget to put on deodorant this morning?" He looked at me, and shook his head. I scrunched my eyebrows. Maybe it was just me.
But a minute later, I knew I couldn't be wrong. I could smell something, or someone, with a powerful, oppressive odor. The kind that is distinctly human, of sweat, garlic, dirt . . .the kind that seems to seep into your skin, and cling to your nose. The really bad kind.
I leaned over again, sniffing my sibling suspiciously. "Are you totally sure?" I said, eyeing him. He usually uses Old Spice, but ya never know. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sarah. I'm totally sure."
"Do you smell that?"
"Nope."
Five long minutes later, my brother looked at me with surprise.
"Do you smell something?"
"Oh yes." I rasped in reply, as I had been trying to breathe with my mouth.
We looked around, bewildered at the mysterious scent. It seemed to grow stronger by the second, but I had no clue as to its source. We tried to inhale through our mouths, or take large gulps of air. Several minutes passed, and the scent didn't go away.
I thought of soaps, showers, perfumes, deodorants . . . what could possibly be missing here? How could something smell so bad? We were totally trapped. You can't just leave an aircraft. I glared at the "fasten your seat belt" sign, as if my eyes could melt through the ceiling and let in a blessed gust of fresh air.
After minutes of desperation, my brother and I pressed our pillow cases to our noses to try and dispel the odor. I'm really not kidding--this was one of the worst scents I've ever smelled in my entire life, and it only seemed to get worse and worse. My head began to swim a little from my erratic breathing patterns.
Just then, the man next to me actually moved. He stood suddenly, and lifted his arm up to reach his suitcase.
Then came the Wave. The wave of body odor, intense, inescapable, and straight from the man sitting next to me.
"OH...oh my gosh," I whispered fervently to my brother. "It's him, it's him, that's the smell . . . ."
We looked at each other, panicked. It felt like we'd been sitting there for hours.
In reality, it had only been 45 minutes. This was an 8 hour flight, and I'd surely pass out from oxygen deprivation by the time we landed in Amsterdam. So we did exactly what any rational person does when presented with an inescapable problem.
With a little bribery and cunning, we snuck into the aisle four rows up, straight to the Promised Land. Pure air has never tasted so good. So we watched Juno simultaneously on our little TVs, congratulated ourselves, and ate free peanuts.
One thing I may love even more than airplanes? Deodorant.
Keep it classy, keep it clean. That's my travel motto.
Cheerio.
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