Bus: #56; 4:15 p.m.
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"'A perfume hides a story,' said Laurence Fauvel, a perfumer and one of the teachers at [the Grasse Institute of Perfumery], which opened in February 2002."* If so, then a public bus has one hell of a disgusting story to tell. Just as pavlov's dogs drool at the sound of a bell, I instinctively cringe as I enter a bus knowing that there is the possibility that there will be a smell so bad that I will want to shower when I get home. Today, that smell was Goodwill. If you have ever been in a Goodwill you know the exact odor I am talking about. Every Goodwill in the country has the same floral room freshner/dirty clothes scent. Ick. But my nose must have been especially tuned in today, b/c that wasn't the only scent that penetrated my nostrils. I sat behind a small waif of a guy who had dandruff and smelled of body odor. Usually I stick it out, but it was so nauseating (even though it was more subtle than most) I discretely moved to another seat. I then found myself behind a woman smelling of cherry chapstick. If I could bottle these smells into a perfume, I don't know what story it would tell, but I know what its moral would be: at the end of the day too many humans in a confined space is not a good thing.
*from an internet article on BlogPost; "Smelling like roses...or not" by Mildrade Cherfils.
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