There’s a certain unspoken etiquette we all abide by when it comes to public transport. You don’t make eye contact with strangers. You don’t engage in unnecessary conversation. And for the love of all things holy, you do your best to avoid stinking up the place. Yet, despite these sacred codes, there exists a faction of brave, if olfactory offensive, souls who boldly disregard the latter.
Let’s talk about them. You know who you are – the ones who turn your regular morning commute into an unscheduled sensory adventure. Maybe it’s the guy who smells like he bathed in Lynx body spray in a misguided attempt to cover up the fact he hasn’t seen a bar of soap since the Cold War. Or perhaps it’s the individuals who smell faintly of… soup? But not the appetising kind. No, more like a concoction of regret and gym socks.
Why, you ask, do these people choose to unleash their nasal assaults in a confined space? Is it ignorance? Neglect? Or, dare I say, some form of performance art? As someone who has ridden the bus during rush hour more times than I care to count, I’m convinced that a few of these olfactory offenders are doing it on purpose. Maybe they believe their signature scent will ward off fellow passengers and win them some extra elbow room. Spoiler alert: It won’t. You’ll just become the subject of countless whispered complaints and passive aggressive glares.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand that sometimes life happens. We’ve all been there. You’re running late, you haven’t showered, and suddenly you're on a packed bus, smelling like a combination of your nan’s house and desperation. A one-time offence is forgivable. But for the repeat offenders, the ones who seem to carry the essence of stale garlic bread and forgotten laundry wherever they go, I offer you this plea: think of the rest of us please. We’re all just trying to survive the morning commute, clutching our coffees and headphones like lifelines hoping for a peaceful ride to our destination.
There are, of course, the professionals of scent warfare. These are the passengers who have mastered the art of layering offensive smells like they’re curating a museum of olfactory horrors. It starts with the base note: sweat – plain, unapologetic sweat, usually from a hard day’s labour or an intense battle with a video game console. Add to that the middle note: something vaguely sour, like unwashed laundry left in the machine for too long. Together, these scents blend into a symphony that stays with you long after you’ve left the bus.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. There are some ways to navigate the perils of public transport funk. For instance, one can become a master of seat selection. Spotting the air-conditioned section of the train is key. Always look for windows that open, and if worse comes to worst, sit near a person wearing enough cologne to sedate an elephant – yes, it’s overkill, but at least it’s preferable to the alternative.
Then, there’s the art of strategic breathing. When caught in the presence of an odour so foul it’s almost sentient, try the age-old technique of mouth breathing. Alternatively, you can invest in a good scarf, wrapped snugly around your face, allowing you to filter the air through your own bubble of semi-freshness.
All jokes aside, there’s a simple solution to this age-old dilemma: basic hygiene. A little soap, a dab of deodorant, and a change of clothes can go a long way in making the world a better smelling place. Public transport is already a challenge; crowded, noisy, and occasionally unpredictable. Let’s not add “olfactory horror show” to the list of daily grievances.