Disclaimer: Do not read this while eating or if you have a weak stomach.
My tummy was so upset this morning that I didn’t even have my trademark cup of black coffee(a.k.a. Diesel). Instead, I showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed, dabbed some cologne on and headed to work.
Half an hour later, I was in a KBS shuttle wondering why I hadn’t invested in a bazooka yet. I could use it to clear traffic during my morning commute, plus nobody would mug a guy walking around with a bazooka and a bag full of ammo. As I visualized explosions, mayhem and clear roads, an evil smirk crept across my face and my eyes lit up. A driver in the car next to me stared back in fear.
That’s when my daydream halted and the morning went sour. I saw one of those City Council inspectors, strolling down the isle. Well, I didn’t see him, per se.
The smell of January’s sweat fermenting in his armpits as well as a distinctly 2009 stench from his clothes bitch-slapped me across the face. I pushed my window open violently, which scared the already startled neighboring driver into swerving onto the pavement and speeding off. The smell would have done that anyway, so I guess I saved him the trouble.
As Inspector Stench-Drenched approached, nausea and pain swept over my senses, and I began reciting prayers and sifting imaginary mediation beads through my fingers.
He got to me and my head was turned away, arm fully extended, ticket in clutch. He took it, signed it and to my great relief, moved on. The epic body odor must be what drove the guy seated next to jump up clumsily and make his escape from the shuttle mid-traffic.
The Inspector finished up with the last few passengers and then turned back in my direction. A quick 360 glance revealed that all the seats had been taken, except this recently vacated one. Which is where he sat.
I had my nose halfway out the window and was just about to inhale when when he tapped my shoulder and asked…something. I didn’t hear what that something was because when I turned to face him 3 things happened.
1. Visual overload. Teeth. Good Lord, his teeth. His teeth, Good Lord, were horrible. At first glance, it looked like he was wearing a yellow mouthguard or gargling cream corn. But closer inspection revealed a thick, beige coating that probably felt like damp suede. And the thick suede too. I mean, he didn’t need to brush; he could take a cloth and towel his teeth off at this point and be more effective. His tongue was a patchwork of crimsons and olives. My guess was that it had died the last time he licked his teeth. I could’ve sworn there was some cotton-like growth on parts of his mouth that made me suspect that he began using old tampons as a tongue once his original one had rotted away.
2. Smell. I thought his body odor was bad. Children, his breath….he had
Halitosis Hallelujah-tosis; he could make a believer out of the staunchest atheists, provided they had a nose. Our fair inspector must have eaten rotten teeth, cigarettes and cat corpse for breakfast and washed it down with lumpy old milk and phlegm. I got a headache when he hit his first vowel and by the time he finished his question and flashed a smile, I was going into cardiac arrest.
3. Taste. Have you ever been in a situation so vile you could taste it? I was drowning in a meat factory’s sewerage system, gagging up guts, grime and gore; I could taste death and shit. And because I was too overwhelmed to respond, he repeated his question and now I could feel death and shit consuming my person.
Please, please, please, please stay clean. There is no excuse other than negligence. A wet towel wipe-down does wonders, and a quick swish of clean water coupled with a few brush strokes won’t kill you. Cheap deo is better than no deo and you’ll probably live longer being cleaner.
Lord knows we all have that one day, but don’t let it turn into a toxic situation. I’d rather not need medical attention courtesy of your fear of showers and toothbrushes.
And wear clean underwear.
That is all.
Sorry for the disturbance.