*to Hanlon's razor: Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
"Ooh, that smell. Can't you smell that smell? The smell of death all around you."
I am not going to compare the virulence of the smell of one people against another: people do not smell the same the world round, but smell they do. In Toronto, the smell of a crowded transit vehicle is a sebaceous pong; in Japan, a fecal fug. Someone else can do legitimate science to determine if the differences have roots in DNA (possible), diet (likely) or BMI (probable). I should not leave out gender or age. Most Japanese women are olofactorily insignificant. As my conscience does not allow me to ride in the ladies carriage, I am stuck among the men in the others: three-quarters of the riders are men between forty and soon-to-retire, wearing suits which would not be dry-cleaned every day. Though I am sure most of those 'salarymen' would imagine I smell worse than them*, I doubt it as I bathe both evening and morning, and do not survive solely on a diet of alcohol, grease and despair.
My strong smell-memory should motivate me onto my bike.