There are far greater concerns in life, but I can remember very few conditions worse than the present. I write simply to laugh at myself and pass the time. I give you permission to laugh at me, too.
It’s around 2:30 in the morning. I have already been traveling for 30 hours straight (destination: Split, Croatia), and I’m entering the last stretch with only six or seven hours to go. I can’t sleep. It isn’t because our reserved seats were taken when we got on the train (which they were), and it isn’t even because I’m feeling ill (which I am). I cannot sleep because I am physically unable to cohabit with the man crammed next to me on the train. Even before he took off his shoes, I knew something was dangerously amiss. The funk had begun to unsettle my stomach even while his feet were enclosed by an inch of shoe leather and hidden underneath his seat. When nighttime rolled around, he took off his shoes and propped his feet up next to my face. Our tiny compartment instantly filled with the most powerful odor I have ever known. His sense of smell must be handicapped by the grace of God in order to live comfortably, and my heart sympathized for him. I really didn’t want to embarrass or make him aware that his mere presence was pillaging my sanity, but I honestly started worrying about brain cell atrophy. I tried to force my body to adjust to the reek, but I’m not sure if we’re engineered for such harsh acclimation. I tried everything. I tried to bury my face into the edge of my seat in the opposite direction of his abominable stockings. I even took off my shirt to wrap around my head, hoping to protect it from my adversary’s aroma. Running out of intelligent options, I seriously pulled my stick of deodorant out of my backpack and rubbed it over my nostrils and upper lip and, using my necklaces, fastened the exposed stick of Old Spice to my chin. The rancid tang, however, was both tenacious and sinister…
…so that brings me here, sitting on a toilet in the tiny dirty train bathroom, hoping no one wakes up needing to use it. I never thought I would consider such a place a refuge. I have my pack stuffed in here with me. The walls are covered with ick and the floor is worse. Mosquitoes (of course) infiltrate my position through the ventilation at every stop. I’m filled with a constant dread that someone outside is furious at me. Every few minutes, water from the ceiling leaks down my back, but any attempt to change my fortune seems futile. Murkiness threatens to engulf me as my laptop battery appears to be throwing in the towel, as well. With moist resignation, I accept my bleak fate… welcome to the World Race <wicked grin>.
