Ten-Finger Exercises

a stinky topic

What can you do, if anything, about stinky people?

I just came from the grocery. As I walked down the produce aisle, I passed three people who were all coming toward me: a large, unkempt man and woman, evidently his wife, and a smaller woman in sweats and hoody who appeared neat. Seconds later there was a terrible odor. I mentally pegged the man and planned to avoid going the same direction he was headed until the air had cleared out. It was really bad!

Then, as I was on my way to the checkout line, the woman in the hoody wafted by, and I knew for sure where the smell had come from. I hoped that she did not follow me through the checkout line, and even considered what I could do to make my line one she would not pick. I could leave my cart in search of a forgotten item; I could exclaim loudly that the prices weren't right on some of my items; if worse came to worse, I could drop a jar of mayonnaise. {i:laugh}

Of course, I wouldn't do any of those things, but I gave it a thought. I think she picked another lane, but I didn't want to look around in case she caught my eye and was encouraged to come over. Then, of course, I chastised myself for being so unkind. There are plenty of poor people in the world who don't have washers and can't afford to go to the laundry. There are people who don't have bathing facilities even.

Then I thought of my co-worker, Arlene, who slept in a tent much of last winter after her house burned down, and who still has no running water. She heats water in a 20 gallon percolator, cools it with jugs of water she hauls from town, and has an improvised shower which works quite well. But then she is bright and able, even at 71.

The first stinky person I remember was in 5th grade, a girl in my gym class who looked much too old for that grade and was the first girl I'd ever seen in a slitted, straight skirt. She had large lips, and wore gobs of lipstick, and tight sweaters with little knitted angora collars that tied in the front. And she had B.O. b-a-d. (That was my mother's term for body odor.) My friends and I all talked about her, and probably said nasty things near her for her to hear. I don't remember doing it, but we probably did. Or maybe we even gave her some deodorant. I'm sure the health and PE teacher spoke to her, but I don't remember any of it having any effect.

Today I didn't want to be unkind, but I did wonder if this lady knew she smelled. I'm always giving people the benefit of that particular doubt: maybe they don't know, and it would be a kindness to tell them. You know, like the old line from The Graduate, "I have just one word for you son, and that's 'PLASTICS.'" I could sidle up to her and whisper, "I have just one word for you, and that's HYGIENE."

But, I didn't see her again and wouldn't have said anything anyway.

Years ago, when I was working nights at a psychiatric hospital, the police brought a street person in because the weather was turning quite cold. (This was before people were called "homeless.") The man had been dumpster diving, if not living in there, and he was riper than anyone I'd been around before. (I actually think today's lady was on a par with him.) For the intake, I had to have him remove his belt, which he could hang himself with, and his boots, so he would be less likely to run away.

When the boots came off, I gagged. I couldn't help it, and I apologized. He was very nice
about it; he didn't take offense. When the belt was removed, his pants fell down, and he didn't have any underwear. He was embarrassed, and pulled them up quickly. I immediately got him a blanket to wrap around himself, in case he needed to get up again, or whatever. I was embarrassed too.

He told me he wasn't crazy, and that the police had explained they were just bringing him in to have him checked out, because they were worried about him. He could spend the night, or some of it, in a bed where it was warm. I offered him a hot bath too, which I thought would be a rare treat. It was not.

He explained to me very patiently that he lived the way he wanted to. He didn't like "walls." And, if it was all the same to me, he didn't like baths much either. The only thing he wished he had was a cigarette. That was back in the days when I was a smoker, and I offered him my mostly full pack to keep. He thanked me and allowed himself to take one to smoke then, and one for later. That was it. Shortly afterwards, he was released. If not his modesty, he at least kept his dignity.

So I know that some people can't help smelling, and some don't care if they do. Maybe some even like it, or at least, like the distance they get from other people, or the negative attention. Nevertheless, I always include some nice soap and some laundry detergent in my bag of groceries to take to the Pantry Shelf. I know lots of people like to smell good.