An Open Letter to the Stink Man

Dear Man on the Tram,

Yesterday, I was rushing out to meet up with a few Americans for a Thanksgiving meal. I entered the tram and dozed-off into a day dream filled with turkey, pumpkins, and crazy pilgrims. I could almost smell the cornbread.

Unfortunately for me, you decided to get on the same tram I was on. I wouldn’t have made anything of it and I was happily staring at the ceiling and drooling over the thought of mashed potatoes when my nose was suddenly, and rudely I must say, interrupted.

Instead of smelling the faint hint of garlic mashed potatoes, something else wacked me back to reality. I looked over in horror as you were slowly heading toward my direction. There were about 50 seats free on the tram and you decided to walk across the tram to sit next to me.

The smell only got stronger as you approached and I don’t know how the other passengers didn’t notice your cruel oder. It smelled something like old cabbage wrapped in a fat child’s gym clothes. And no, the fact that you doused yourself in pure rubbing alcohol didn’t change the fact that you probably hadn’t showered since I first arrived in Germany.

You then coughed up something awful and probably alive, gave me a wink, and sat down next to me. I hugged the food I had made trying to protect it from contamination, but I know it was a futile endeavor. I then tried to breath out of my mouth to try and block the smell. This proved to be a bad decision because your musk had evolved a subtle trash-like taste to it.

I yelped, and tried holding my breath. Every two minutes or so I was forced to breath and gasped. The people around had finally realized where the smell was coming from and for whatever reason had thought the smell was emanating from me, not the trash man sitting next to me.

When my stop finally arrived, you refused to let me out into the isle. I was forced to clamber over the seats and run with my eyes watering off the train.

Please sir, for the good of mankind, bath yourself.

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