A Dose of Public Transportation

Have you taken a bus lately? Neither had I until the accident happened in the front seat of my Jaguar. It may never smell the same again.

It happened in the predawn hours on the morning of an important appointment. My dog jumped into the front seat and promptly ... ah, you can pretty well imagine what he did.

That's why I took the bus. It was imperative that my appearance and ahem ... aroma be topnotch for this summit meeting.

I can't say as I have ever taken a bus before this occassion. So I was unprepared for the consequences of my rash decision.

It began well. The bus stopped and the driver took my money. Small successes like this are important.

Stories abound of the unsavory characters one meets on buses so it was a relief to see an empty seat near the front beside a spic-and-span, freckled-faced eight-year-old. The sweet little boy had books and a shoe box on his lap.

Shortly after taking my seat, I smiled at the cherub and inquired: "On your way to school, are you?"

Our friendship developed quickly. Soon, he decided to share the treasured secrets of his shoe box with me. A science project, I believed. With great trust, he thrust the box close to me and opened the lid. My squeal of horror startled the little monster. His hand shook, the box upset, and a decomposed rodent landed squarely on the white twill of my new silk skirt. Involuntarily, my hands flailed like a rotary blade trying to remove the aromatic beasti.

As soon as I gathered my wits, I moved to the middle of the bus. The seat next to a plump grandmotherly lady knitting a scarf with an innocent black knitting case resting on the floor near her feet should be safe. No expired cadavers here.

How was I to know she was a perfume salesperson? Immediately, she reached into the knitting case, removed several packets, and plied me with samples.

You know how well good salespeople talk? How they draw you into their nefarious schemes, then suddenly you're hooked without ever realizing just how it happened? Such was the case. She sprayed a dab of Arpege, a mist of Jovan, a wisp of Ciara and a splash of Chanel along the sleeves of my suit. Hastily, I excused myself and moved to the back of the bus.

The only available seat there was beside a rheumy old gentleman. Normally, I would have avoided that seat. Yet in all probability, I chided myself, he was a safer seatmate than the child and the grandmother.

Seconds after I sat down, he leaned closer and opened his mouth to say hello. The air between his tonsils and teeth rapidly wrapped me in its embrace. Flies swarmed on the visible vapor of onion and garlic which emanated from his mouth. One by one the flies dropped. Dead from asphyxiation.

The stench of malodeur of stale-beer on clothing was accentuated by the hideous purple floors of the bus. It targeted all within yardstick range. The man was an Olfactory Abuse Case, if ever I smelled one.

Perhaps, it was the overdose of my own cologne-y scent that addled the senses of this man in his dotage. Whatever the cause, he suddenly envisioned himself as Don Quixote who, with clumsy chivalry, raised his walking stick in some attempt of foolish gallantry. It smote the sprinkler system installed as a safety precaution in the roof of the bus.

The sudden shower did him some good, though I can't say it did much for me.

When the bus finally arrived at my destination, it was late. I hurried to the appointed place and entered the conference just in time to hear the chairman announce my arrival: "Now, let me introduce you to the new Corporate Manager of Vogue's Haute Couture, Chic Fabrics, and Fashionable Fragrances."

Riverlets of water dripped from my bedraggled hair, a casualty of the bus shower which had shrunk my silk suit. It now hung in ridiculous angles at war with my body.

The said shower, however, did not remove the gray stain the decomposed rodent corpse had kindly embossed upon the front, and which now smelled like wet, and very dead, skunk fur. Nor did it remove the thirty clashing aromas of highly competitive perfume factories.

What in the world could I do but walk a little less than bravely to the front of the room and begin my opening remarks with: "How many of you have taken the bus lately?"
A Dose of Public Transportation © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan