Whiff of the Past

One of the wonderfully fun things (and I say that somewhat sarcastically) afforded me by my new job is riding the train downtown every day. Actually, it really isn't that bad on the whole, but sometimes the person sitting next to you makes the experience, shall we say, somewhat unpleasant.

This morning, for example, a woman boarded the train on the stop immediately following mine, and sat herself down right next to me, rather than the plethura of other single riders in the car. (I still haven't figured out why 90% of the time people choose ME to sit next to rather than anyone else, I think I have to work on my "don't sit by me" aura) This meant that for the next 45 minutes, I had to press myself against the wall of the train and scrunch in my elbows while I read my book. That in itself was bad enough, but then I got a whiff of her.

She was an obvious smoker, and had most certainly put out her last butt milliseconds before she boarded. Being an ex-smoker, the smell of cigarette smoke on others really bothers me. Literally gags me. I still have a hard time believing that I myself used to smell just as bad. (I would apologize to any smokers out there, but I feel I have earned the privilege of soapboxing since I quit cold turkey about four years ago.) So now as well as trying to avoid physical contact with my seatmate, I was also trying to avoid olfactory contact as well. This proved to be very difficult, as I am nursing a cold, and in order to prevent the embarrassment of nasal mucus dripping onto my lap, I had to sporadically sniff mightily. The sniffing prevented the nasal drip, but also invaded my senses with that stale cigarette smell.

After about the fifth sniff, I realized that the yukky smell wasn't only cigarettes... there was, in fact, something oddly familiar about it. Not that the smell was any less unpleasant, but it reminded me of something. I closed my eyes and reluctanty sniffed again, trying to pinpoint what it was.

Suddenly it came flooding back. The smell was that of cheap perfume mixed with the cigarettes. Could've been any perfume, really, but what it reminded me of was hanging out at a smoky corner bar. In this day and age of "smoke-free" zones, I haven't smelled that in a long time. It was a smell that used to cling to my clothes when I smoked myself and had come home from bar-hopping with friends. It was a smell that made me think of partying, and irresponsibility, and one-night stands (not that I ever had any of those, of course...). Made me think of TBOTE, as well. I can't say it was a welcome flood of memories, but regardless, there it was. The longer I closed my eyes and inhaled that nauseatingly sweet yet acrid smell, the more memories came. I almost expected to hear Kevin's voice next to me. I almost expected to open my eyes and find myself in P's again, with a Miller Lite in front of me. Or worse, at an old "buddy's" house, waiting for the pipe.

I opened my eyes again and tried to concentrate on somehow not inhaling while still preventing my nose from drippping. This was done by putting my mittened hand beneath my nose and trying to just block all air (and whatever else) from entering or leaving my nasal passages. When I snuck a look over at my seatmate, curious about the owner of this smell that caused such discontent, I almost laughed. It was a woman in probably her 50's or 60's, black short hair sprinkled with gray, wearing Harry Potter glasses and shaped like a pear. Nothing like what I expected. But still, that smell...

I can't tell you how glad I was to get off that train. Even in zero degree weather. Those kind of memories I can do without, thank you very much.