Wheeeeee doggie!
Let me just say here, as a lover of food, a person who could be defined, as my mother sometimes defined me, as “a good little eater”, that I embrace – nay, I lean fondly in and run loving eyes over many, many dishes of the culinary persuasion.
But man, the woman in front of me?
Her food stinks.
I mean, what is it? From my seat behind her, I lean forward in an attempt to identify an ingredient or two.
Unfortunately, the container is in her lap. To lean over any further would be to identify myself as someone who is, if you’ll excuse the expression, nosy.
And we wouldn’t want that.
The stink shall remain identified and, for the purposes of this document, accepted as both pungent and description-defying.
She eats it with her fingers, my little immigrant friend does.
And once again, from my seat on the bus, I am reminded of the cavemen.
What do you think that means, the number of times in a week that I think of cavemen? Because one cannot help but think of them, of their communal living quarters, from one’s seat on the bus. If I close my eyes, I can see the graffiti-ed walls, the piles of refuse. I can smell the old men and last night’s dinner. I can see the young ones bursting with hormones and energy.
And if I open my eyes, I can still see them.
The ability to turn a blind eye – or a blind nose – to the doings of others was probably essential in the caves, don’t you think? Just listen in for a moment:
Grok hit Maab again last night.
Bok was up all night coughing.
And Janet thinks no one’s noticed that rather than taking her trash with her when she goes that she just kicked it under a seat.
Meanwhile, back on the ol’ 17W, the woman in front of me licks her fingers furtively, her eyes on the rearview mirror at the front. Eating on the bus, after all, is frowned upon.
Maab no want to flaunt rules.
She gets off at the next stop and the stink goes with her.
I will never know what was in that Cool Whip container now.
I scratch my head, nod and grunt pleasantly at the man who sits next to me, and close my eyes and think of dinner.
Let me just say here, as a lover of food, a person who could be defined, as my mother sometimes defined me, as “a good little eater”, that I embrace – nay, I lean fondly in and run loving eyes over many, many dishes of the culinary persuasion.
But man, the woman in front of me?
Her food stinks.
I mean, what is it? From my seat behind her, I lean forward in an attempt to identify an ingredient or two.
Unfortunately, the container is in her lap. To lean over any further would be to identify myself as someone who is, if you’ll excuse the expression, nosy.
And we wouldn’t want that.
The stink shall remain identified and, for the purposes of this document, accepted as both pungent and description-defying.
She eats it with her fingers, my little immigrant friend does.
And once again, from my seat on the bus, I am reminded of the cavemen.
What do you think that means, the number of times in a week that I think of cavemen? Because one cannot help but think of them, of their communal living quarters, from one’s seat on the bus. If I close my eyes, I can see the graffiti-ed walls, the piles of refuse. I can smell the old men and last night’s dinner. I can see the young ones bursting with hormones and energy.
And if I open my eyes, I can still see them.
The ability to turn a blind eye – or a blind nose – to the doings of others was probably essential in the caves, don’t you think? Just listen in for a moment:
Grok hit Maab again last night.
Bok was up all night coughing.
And Janet thinks no one’s noticed that rather than taking her trash with her when she goes that she just kicked it under a seat.
Meanwhile, back on the ol’ 17W, the woman in front of me licks her fingers furtively, her eyes on the rearview mirror at the front. Eating on the bus, after all, is frowned upon.
Maab no want to flaunt rules.
She gets off at the next stop and the stink goes with her.
I will never know what was in that Cool Whip container now.
I scratch my head, nod and grunt pleasantly at the man who sits next to me, and close my eyes and think of dinner.
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25 comments:
Once upon a time I worked in a place that employeeed a non-local that delighted in fish parts heated in the break room.
Grok
Bok
Maab
Janet? What an odd name they prolly thunk.
We have a deli-type place in our basement at work where you can get freshly made sandwiches and salads. I often have to listen to people chewing on the elevator ride back up.
Why oh why can't people wait until they get back to their desks? I don't want to hear somebody chewing on the elevator.
*Shudder*
One person's fish heads is another's pancake. Eat 'em up YUM.
Speaking as someone who can gag on her own toothbrush or while gargling (which happens to be not an optional activity for me), I don't think I could have thought of dinner, lunch or even toothbrushing that soon after such a whiffatory experience. You must be not only a "good little eater" but also have a "strong little stomach". Dig in!
I think a whole book could be written on what people eat for their work lunches, and what it says a out their personalities. Wait, as ling as you don't include be in the book...
Hari Om
Well I gotta tell you, fingers are God's own cutlery. But there's ways and ways...
And there's foods and foods. Now, if she'd turned and offered you some, what sort of post would we have had, I wonder? Adventure, Pearl. Take a culinary adventure! ;*> YAM xxx
Because food is not given on a plane anymore, people tend to bring their food with them - without any regards to the ingredients or the aroma they give off in a small enclosed space. There have been times that I almost see myself becoming terroristic when I see chopsticks come out. Good food, but bad smell.
Hmm. If she had offered me a bite, I probably would've taken it.
But I'm adventurous that way!
:-)
Great post --brought back memories! I used to think after we grew foreheads we'd quit feeding in the open, but some things take time.
I'd be more annoyed if I smelled something absolutely delicious and was unable to identify it.
Some things we are better off not knowing! :D
We had a coworker who occasionally brought a Korean dish called Kimchi to work. It was fermented vegetables and the smell was horrible!
Probably Icelandic. Probably putrefied shark (hakarl). Curls my nose hairs just thinking about it.
*sigh* I do eat with my fingers at home. I haven't gotten that adventurous to try it on a bus!
Mongo love candy x
Our buses have a sign 'no eating or drinking on this bus' most people don't but sometimes people do but nothing smelly our bus drivers like a clean bus and will kick you off if you don't obey the rules and they catch you.
Merle......
Well this post will serve as an appetite suppresant :)
Boy, if I had been there I might have started gagging because of the smell. I probably would have tattled: "Hey bus driver, this lady is eating on the bus!?"
This was probably some delicacy that she had spent hours making. I think it would have been one of those vile fish dishes that some people like. Anything with salted cod. Or that Chinese oil that always turns my stomach when I pass Chinese restaurants. Each to their own taste of course but I'm feeling sick just thinking about it.
I was going to invite you for breakfast at the MSP airport tomorrow morning--I have an hour layover--but knowing how carefully you watch people eat...
good one Indigo
Speaking as one who has thrown away more than one stinky Cool Whip container full of back of the fridge leftovers; I wonder if the person you encountered just didn't 'Smell Right' too! - HA! W.C.C.
@Indigo Roth; I love that movie!!
When food is stinky, my experience has been that the culprit is usually cheese. However, you may not want to dismiss the option of it having been the woman herself rather than her food. Or maybe a startling combination of both.
We definitely wouldn't want to be considered 'nosey' as we . . . smell . . . wait a minute! Are we onto something?!
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