Beware the Hygienitard

Flight 345 to San Francisco had just left the ground when I noticed the faint aroma of corn chips. I enjoy corn chips so this made me a little hungry. A mental note was made to bring my own snacks on the next flight. Snack boxes are 3 bucks and they don’t include Fritos.

As my fellow passengers and I ascended into the beautiful, sunny, blue sky, the 4-oz.-bag-of-corn-chip smell grew to a 20-oz.-bag-of-corn-chip smell. It came from the passenger to my immediate right. Seems he was in a hurry to make his flight this morning and skipped a shower. Eww. I twisted open the air nozzle over my head to blow away the subtle funk and opened my book to escape in its story.

While reading, I felt a tickle in my right nostril. There was a moment of confusion as I merged with reality because I thought someone had stuck a bean dipped corn chip coated in bad breath in my nose. I mentally classified the passenger next to me as a new species (the homorepellus hygienitard - pronounced hi gen’ eh tard’) because nobody human could possible be that elusive to soap. For a while, I casually closed my left nostril by pretending to prop my head on my hand, but that didn’t work. I twisted the air nozzle again, but it couldn’t blow harder. It appeared that the passenger to my immediate right wasn’t using hers. I thought, ‘Maybe I can point hers in my direction. Does she not smell this? Is her nose deaf?’

Before I could commandeer her air, I sneezed and my nose began to run so I climbed from the middle seat to clean my sinuses.

In the tight bathroom of the A320-SR, I rediscovered the joy of fresh(ish) air. I blew out the vile stench that clung to my mucus and inhaled the smell of airline handsoap and blue commode water. A pubic toilet never smelled so good. I didn’t want to leave. Subjecting myself to the cloud of nose-hate again would be sadistic, but I couldn’t very well stay in the bathroom for two hours.

What to do...what to do...

I was blessed with the genius idea of wandering the aisles of the plane until we were ready to land. There aren’t rules for standing during a flight, so what can they say other than that I am strange?

‘Awesome. Problem solved,’ I thought as I slowly exited the bathroom (I have to be careful to not hit my head).

I loitered in the back for a moment, nonchalantly looking over passengers’ shoulders at what they were reading when I felt the plane jostle a little. My face blanched when I heard the familiar ping of the “fasten seatbelt” sign and listened to the captain announce, “We are about to go through a rough patch so please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

Frozen, I seriously weighed the consequences of defying airline regulation to remain standing. I mean, how bad can airport jail be? Is it worse than the hygienitard? An authoritative voice behind me demanded I sit down, and instead of saying, “No thanks. I’ll risk it,” I did as I was told.

3 steps closer to my seat, I felt a lump form in my throat. The plane shook again. 6 steps closer, my eyes begin to water. 9 steps closer my lower lip quivers and I fight back a sob. The plane suddenly drops, and I have to grab the seat next to me for balance. With only 3 steps away, my nose begins to run again. Good thing I brought tissue from the bathroom (oh, the fond memories I have of the airplane bathroom).

Back in my seat, I find the hygienitard sleeping under a blanket. The only exposure was its left leg. Stretching my face as close to the blowing air nozzle as possible, I contemplated how to get his leg covered. Thankfully the blanket smothered most of the stench, but I didn’t want to cover his exposed leg for fear of the hygienitard assuming I was tucking him in.

The plane took another nasty dive. Some passengers yelped or gasped; I prayed we were crashing just so the oxygen masks would drop. ‘Could I pry the oxygen mask compartments open? Would they be more mad if I did that instead of standing in the aisle when you’re not supposed to?’ I thought as I fixed my gaze on the “fasten seatbelt” light, awaiting its disappearance. I was willing to metaphorically chew off my arm to escape the bear trap, but I was stuck on deciding which arm to chew off.

When the plane finally landed and the “fasten seatbelt” light I was still staring at finally went off, a manic blurt of laughter escaped from me. Relieved that fresh air would be mine again soon, I scurried to stand in the aisle with my carry-on and wait to deboard. I took a moment to be grateful I survived to share the tale of the hygienitard, because awareness is half the battle.