A Hitch In The Road

There’s a little pang of terror deep down. Letting someone in like that. In that moment it’s peculiar how your attention is drawn to the little things. You get hung up on some small detail. And it’s not the detail that keeps your breath high up in your lungs. It’s the fact that all you can focus on is something tiny like that—instead of looking for a gun in his pocket.

The frozen stripes stood hard on the pavement. All I could think was, if I could travel back in time people would freak out if they saw me driving this metal box on wheels at thirty-five miles an hour.  Those yellow road stripes look so short as you speed by, but when you stop they turn out to be longer than your car. I think I was trying to focus on something else to keep my hands from shaking. They were quivering slightly anyway. I’m a big guy; I could defend myself if I had to.

He was nice enough. I would never have done it if I hadn’t seen some kindness in those foggy eyes of his. His beard obscured most of his face like brambles. But that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. He accepted my offer and slung his pack off one shoulder. I said he could toss it in the bed of my little two-seater truck if he wanted. He thought for a second, eyes darting between the tiny cab and the bed, and he and his bag proceeded to get in the front anyway.

He managed to squeeze the gargantuan backpack between his legs. The pack had been patched. Sometimes out of necessity and sometimes for aesthetic purposes. I guess if you don’t have a house to decorate, you decorate your backpack. I noticed pins from bars, American flags, worn out Harley-Davidson patches and what looked like a cufflink stuffed through a button hole. But those weren’t the first things I noticed either. It wasn’t the filthy bedroll, or the sun-bleached camo print of the material, or even the Leatherman knife in his boot—it was the smell. It was a pungent odor of wet dog and oil and earth. And despite my tight-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, all I could focus on was the smell. It had a hundred layers. It was a cave with no bottom.

And then I was suddenly ashamed. For I smelled just as foreign to him: Of shampoo and deodorant and detergent and luxury. I couldn’t change that. But I could give this man a ride, who by no choice of his was trapped in a time where cars didn’t exist. What I could do was save his boots from a few more miles of wear.

So I took a deep breath and asked, “Where ya headed?”

[Keep following. Because you have nothing better to do.]

The General Rules #3 - Smells

One may not instantly understand the importance of this topic, or even how it relates to dating, love, relationships, and other matters of the heart. But you will understand when I am finished.

Let's start with the obvious. Personal Hygiene. I've had the good fortune to travel to different countries across the world. I've had the good fortune to live abroad for extended periods. I've had the good fortune to learn about new cultures and ways of conducting myself. I've had the good fortune to learn about customs and practices different from my own. I've had the good fortune to walk down cobbled streets and peruse open-air markets during a Swiss spring.

But I have also had the sore misfortune of riding crowded public transportation during a humid German summer. I've tasted with my nose the odors of a hundred ethnicities, and breathed the sour spice of too many Italian armpits. This was only my misfortune because I had the good fortune of being born right here in 'Murrca--Land of the Free, Home of the Deodorant Stick.

Now that you know of my experience in this field, I may speak in an authoritative manner. It really isn't a huge problem here, but because I still encounter the rogue human who refuses to shower, and insists upon arresting the noses of those around him with a vapor cloud of BO, it needs to be said. Bathe yourself often. It doesn't take long. The days of Papal prohibited Ablutions are over. It is 2011, give it a try.

After scrubbing various orifices, apply deodorant. Even if you "don't plan on sweating" or "don't think you need it." You do. Everyone does. Everyone smells. Any deodorant or anti-perspirant will work. Except AXE. Axe body sprays are like the annoying new guy at work, we all tolerate him because we have to. We give him the benefit of the doubt because he is not familiar with the unwritten worker's code. But secretly we all want to get the new guy fired. I've never witnessed anyone call out an Axe-wearer for smelling like a trash can coated with grandpa's aftershave, so I guess I'll be that guy. YOU SMELL LIKE A TRASH CAN COATED WITH GRANDPA'S AFTERSHAVE.

Moving on to Cologne, and ladies, to your perfume. In the book How to be a Gentleman, we find this statement that speaks for itself. So there is no need for me to go on and on about how horrible it is when guys or girls wear too much scent and how too many guys insist upon dumping gallons and gallons and gallons of Acqua Di Gio on their already AXE-coated tanning bed-brown skin, so much so that it becomes the only thing that an entire crowd of people can smell for the next three weeks. I won't need to talk about that because this quote is so good.

"A gentleman considers cologne intimate apparel. It should not cause comment, positive or negative, among other people in the room. Instead, it should be saved as a pleasant surprise for people with whom he makes close physical contact. A gentleman understands that cologne is, after all, an accessory. It is not to be used as a substitute for deodorant... When used to excess, cologne is annoying and raises questions about what smells are being covered up. Anytime a person can identify the brand of scent that a man is wearing, he is wearing too much."

The same applies to you ladies, if I can tell that you are wearing Vera Wang Princess from fifteen yards away, it's gross. The problem with scents nowadays is that they are expensive, so everyone feels the need to let everyone else know what they are wearing, so that everyone else will know how much money they have. When the truth is, too much of even the best scent can make you smell like the toothless carnie who runs the ferris wheel.

We live in an age of smell-excess. If you don't believe me just head in the general direction of your local mall, and about a mile off you will start to smell the rhino-nuclear explosion that is Bath & Body Works. That place is like the Chernobyl of the nasal community. So please, for my sake, for all our sakes, and for the sanctity of our noses, use moderation. Also, destroy your AXE.

[Keep following, your love IQ just went up 10 points]