Funk in Flight

Picture this -

I've just boarded the last leg of my flight to take me from Milan to Dubai.  I've stored my carryon and I've settled in my seat.

There is a funky smelling odor nearby, but I can't place the origin of it.

     Please allow me to define funky. 

     Sometimes we use the word to describe something or someone who is cool, 

     hip, or has that certain swagger.

     Today I'm using it to describe the strongest, foulest, most disgusting body odor 

     I've experienced in a long time.

Then, the source of that smell walked by.

The odor was gagging bad.

And just as I was feeling sorry for the poor soul he would be sitting by, he came and stood by my seat, indicating he was sitting next to me.

Dear Lord.

I wasn't sure what to do.

I tried holding my breath but I couldn't hold it forever.  I exhaled only to be slapped with another nauseating wave of funk.

I should also mention he was a big guy.  A really big guy.  He sat leaning back with his legs wide open, touching mine, and as much as I tried to move far away, I couldn't escape.  I was being rubbed with the funk, too.

And instead of just laying low and being cool, or as cool as he could be in his funky state, he raised his arms and laid them on the armrest behind his head.

Dear, dear Lord.

That's when the most overwhelming onslaught of funk imaginable nearly took my breath away.

And . . .

To add to this nasal drama, he was fidgety.  He was in constant motion - moving around in his seat, making noise with the ashtray by opening and closing it, and he was playing with the tray table, again and again.

Then he started to pray.

Me, too.

I'm not sure what he was praying about, but I was praying for some fresh air to come my way . . . soon.

At about hour three of a six hour flight, he motioned that he needed to get up.  I assumed he was going to the restroom and would be right back, but he was gone more than an hour.

Thank God!

However, when he came back, he not only reeked of funk, but he had layered that funky smell with a whole lot of cologne (it's available in the restrooms).

Dear, dear, dear Lord.

At this point my only refuge was to turn my face toward the aisle, and stay turned that way, to keep my eyes and nose from burning.

By the way, his clothes were nice.  He didn't look destitute, but he definitely needed to burn what he was wearing.  There is no way that obnoxious smell was ever coming out.

I maintained my position of leaning forward, with my head turned toward the aisle, when he turned on the music on his phone so loud, folks sitting across the aisle could hear it playing, through his headphones.  It must have been deafening for him.

I pulled my iPad out and tried reading to distract myself.

It didn't work.

Thankfully, the flight landed about 30 minutes early, and I rushed off, but I couldn't escape the funk because he was right behind me.  I slowed down, and let him pass, and waited a while, until I was sure it would be safe to breathe again.

And, other than loosing my eyebrows from the blistering funk, it was a great flight.