I love the smell of lip balm in the morning.

There seems to be a common element in a lot of my blog entries: The CTA. Ah yes, the good old Chicago Transit Authority. That shining paragon of mass transportation, whisking people swiftly to their points of destination all over the greater Chicago area. That massive fleet of busses and trains that picks up riders in a timely fashion and transports them comfortably from Point A to Point B.

It sounds lovely, doesn’t it? In theory, I suppose it is. But there’s a reason the CTA factors so heavily in my rants: it’s rarely a pleasurable experience. In the last few weeks it seems I’ve had my fair share of commuting setbacks, usually in the form of trains and/or busses that never show up. I understand that in Europe and even in other major U.S. cities, the public transit system actually makes announcements and even displays the time of the next train arrival. Here in Chicago, you can sit for 45 minutes waiting on a train that runs every 7 minutes, and no announcement will ever be made to let you know if the train is 2 minutes away, or never ever coming to the station again. So you’re left wondering if you should stick it out a few more minutes, or head back to the street and try and hail a cab. Several times lately I’ve done the latter, all the while sure that if I’d just stayed in the station another 2 minutes, the train would have been right along. I try to utilize public transit as much as possible, but it’s getting increasingly more difficult to justify leaving my car at home when what would have been a 10 minute drive turns into an hour-and-forty-five minute travel ordeal.

But today, my negative travel experience was of a different kind altogether. I arrived at the station to find a huge crowd of people waiting for the train, signifying it was running late. Nothing unusual about that. Then the train finally shows, only to be packed with so many people that it looks like a moving tin of sardines pulling into the station. Also nothing unusual about that. Then, even though there isn’t room to possibly cram even one more person into the nearest car, about 25 people will shoehorn themselves in anyway. Again, just another day on the CTA. I can’t say much about that. I was one of the 25 that pushed and shoved my way on-board. Yeah, there was an announcement saying another train would be right behind it, but do you think I’m falling for that? After all the letdowns the CTA has thrown my way? Ha!

Back to today’s issue. As I think I’ve said in the past, one of the benefits of riding the CTA is you get to experience the joys of being bodily pressed against all kinds of people you’d otherwise never touch in real life. And sometimes, these people don’t observe the same hygiene habits that you do. You just have to find your happy place and focus on that until you can get off the bus/train and back into the (arguably) fresh air. Well today, there was no happy place imaginable that could have helped me escape the stench coming off the gentleman next to me. I’d say he was older – I’d guess maybe late 60’s. I would also guess, based on his aroma, the last time he had a bath was also during the late 60’s. I don’t know how to describe it. If the guy wasn’t actually standing with his eyes open and occasionally moving, I would have thought someone had left a ripe corpse on the train. I’m not even remotely exaggerating when I say that I started physically retching. And me being the nice guy I am, tried to hide it so I wouldn’t offend him. Offend HIM!?!? Why was I worried about that when this guy was assaulting my sense of smell in a way it had never been assaulted before? I started thinking to myself, “Steve… you can get through this.” Just take very shallow breaths. Keep your head turned the other way. And for God’s sake, don’t breathe through your nose!” I started to think I might be able to make it, and then out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something that made me turn and look. It was one of those things that partly registers in your brain, enough so that you know you really shouldn’t examine it any closer. But then the other, rational part of your brain tells you it can’t really be what you think it is, so go ahead and take a look so you can dismiss it and move on. Usually when that happens, you should listen to the first part of your brain. I sure wish I had. The odiferous gentlemen, standing so close that he was touching me, had fungus growing out of his ears. Actual green/gray fungus. Like you’d see on a rotted log in a very damp forest. And not just a little. The fungus had basically issued forth from his ear canal and had moved on to take over the entire lower ear and ear lobe. At that point my retching turned into actual full body heaves. The guy’s arm was touching my back, and I couldn’t focus on anything else. And the train was so crowded there was no way to move away from him.

I started looking around and I noticed that I wasn’t the only one affected. Let’s call Mr. Pungent’s location “ground zero.” People on the outer periphery of ground zero would catch a whiff, adopt that knowing smile that says, “ha ha, yeah. Now THERE’S a smelly character,” and smirk as if it was funny! But they could afford to be cavalier about it. All they had to do was turn their head the other way and catch a fresh breath of sweet, blessed relief. The people nearer to ground zero had extremely pained expressions and looked like they’d have given away everything they had on them to be instantly transported somewhere else. Riders in the contaminated zone were making eye contact with other riders (a rare occurrence on the train) to let them know, “you’re not in this alone. Be strong. We’ll get through it together.” This is the type of compassion for total strangers you usually only witness during time of national disaster.

I resorted to holding my breath for long periods of time. And all I can say is thank God I’m tall. When I needed to replenish, I’d stand on my tip-toes, crane my neck, look up towards the ceiling (where I was slightly above the heads of most people), and take a deep breath before returning to my normal position. You’ve seen in movies where someone is in a capsized boat or submerged car, and they have to come up, take a breath, and then go back in the water to rescue someone that’s still stuck? I’m sure it looked a lot like that. Only I wasn’t rescuing anyone. Well in essence, I guess I was. I was rescuing all the people around me from also having to deal with the smell of my vomit on top of everything else with which they had to contend. At one point I looked down, and on the other side of Mr. Zesty was a poor girl who was only about 5 feet tall or so. I felt so bad for her. There was nowhere she could escape. She was stuck in the crowd and couldn’t even see over it to look outside and remember there exists a world where the air is clean and you can take a deep breath without it physically causing you pain. Her eyes were wide and scared. I can only hope she made it.

So we finally got to my stop, and I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. Did I pause to help anyone else out of the train? Of course not. All my army training of “never leaving your buddy behind” went completely out the window. It was every man for himself. I made my way toward the stairwell, still woozy from the stench that had burned itself into my nostrils. The entire platform seemed to sway and the stairs seemed to keep getting farther away no matter how fast I walked. I persevered and climbed the stairs towards the sunlight , breaking out into the traffic exhaust of a busy downtown Chicago street. I deeply inhaled the acrid, carbon monoxide-laden air. Ah, sweet ambrosia! I’m going to live!

It’s been two hours since I’ve gotten off that train, and I can still smell that guy. I’m not kidding. I’m somewhat known for my powers of embellishment, but I don’t really think that’s the case this time. The smell really is burned into my sinuses. I didn’t think it was possible for a living human being to smell that bad. This morning, CTA apparently stood for Containing Terrible Aroma.