A Quick Trip on the Body Odor Railroad

A mini-memoir story [12/52*]

A bit mini-er than usual, but richly odiferous.

I was at the counter of my local convenience store (corner store, corner shop, c-store, cold store, party store, small grocery store, bodega, mini-market, mini-mart, depanneur, whatever you call it in the barbaric wasteland you come from) across the street from where I live (chic, I know). I go there all the time because crowds at grocery stores make my skin crawl and because I have an aversion to fresh healthy foods… but mostly because it’s open until midnight and it’s right across the street. They’re also super-friendly there and know me.

Oh, and they have Blue Bell Buttercrunch icecream… because I hate myself.

I was at the counter and the guy reading price tags from the pieces of my shame had this roaring body odor. He’s a cool guy, don’t get me wrong (even though he did sort-of accuse me of being a vampire, but that’s another story), but his pit funk was so strong it was leaving BO deposits in my mouth.

I’ve endured worse.

This lady had come into the store while I was shopping for something to slowly kill myself with. She was very attractive in a you will wake up without a liver kind of way.

If you’re not familiar with me yet, you should know that, aside from a recent switch from Evil to Good, I am attracted to the very worst traits in women. If you lined up 10 women, making sure one of them would not hesitate to stab me with a wire coat-hanger, I’ll naturally pick that stabber as the woman of my dreams. Make sure another one would enjoy the emotional equivalent of grinding a high-heel through the temporal bone of my skull, and it’ll be a showcase showdown.

Back to the counter. I was standing there wondering how one man could generate such a thick and abusive odor when she got in line behind me. I turned my head a bit to peripheral-vision her, and realized she had actually stopped a few more feet back from me than I would consider normal.

Oh, god no! I thought in a panic. It’s not me! It’s not me! Please, strange-and-undoubtedly-evil-lady-who-I-will-not-speak-to-or-ever-see-again-or-even-think-rawrrr-thoughts-about-because-I-have-a-wonderful-girlfriend, please, IT’S NOT MEEEEEE!!!

She moved over to the ice-cream cooler to wait her turn at the counter. She was appearing nonchalant about it, but, fuckin hell, she thought it was me! I smiled, because it’s a natural thing I do. It wasn’t a lascivious smile, nor a leering smile, nor a hey, baby smile. I generally don’t do those because I’̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶c̶o̶o̶l̶ ̶e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶p̶u̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶o̶f̶f I’m not a douche-cracker. It was just a friendly, non-creepy (I think, anyway… omg, do I have a creepy smile!?), smile. I was kind of hoping to pull off a Jedi thing — I am not the stink you are lookin for… (except, dammit, those were the droids they were looking for, and I’m innocent!)

She froze me out like a ninja assassin.

Ouch! Dear lord, she thought an obliviously stinky dude was giving her a come-on smile. I was in hell. HELL!

I thanked Mr. Onionpits, who I’ve bought an embarrassing assortment of unhealthy shit from over the past 5 years, but whose name I do not know, who used to be afraid of me because he thought I might really be a vampire (yeah, again, another story), and took my receipt which was probably carrying it’s own little miniature BO waft.

I exited the store, avoiding any awkward eye contact with her. I hope she felt bad about thinking it was me once she spent a few moments at that check out counter inhaling that mess from ground-zero.

Either that or she thought I was so supernaturally stanky that I left a palpable cloud behind me.

I bet she texted about it.


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