There might be no other force in the universe with greater influence over our day to day lives than inertia. Poorly run enterprises count on its power to keep them in business. Am I tired of the manifest incompetence of Wells Fargo, not to mention their admitted malfeasance? Of course I am. But the very thought of shutting down all three of our checking accounts there, re-establishing a whole host of auto-deposits and debits gives me migraines. Am I unhappy with the service and cleanliness of CVS? Of course I am. But, going to the giant hassle of calling the doctor’s offices and changing pharmacies feels like a gigantic chore…and they are right across the street. So in both cases I put up with a lot of unpleasantness in exchange for convenience.
So yesterday at CVS I experienced a new low. I was there around 4:30 in the afternoon to pick up two prescriptions and various toiletries. I knew full well that 4:30 in the afternoon was a horrible time to pick up prescriptions at CVS, so that’s on me. I found the toiletries without incident, then made my way to the back of the store where the Pharmacy is located expecting a serpentine line waiting on the one forlorn and irritable clerk. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was the only customer.
Over the past couple of years CVS has taken to hiring an assortment of tattooed, body-pierced, wool cap-in the middle of summer-wearing folks to man the registers. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose. Its just a marked change from the mostly young and energetic people I’ve become used to. The new people hardly ever make eye contact with you and when they do it is to communicate epic levels of boredom and constitutional disenchantment. But, I put up with it because…well, that inertia thing. So when I see the woman with the thick wool sack covering her entire head at the register I stroll up to tell her my last name and birthdate. I am, after all, a seasoned veteran and know the drill. But when I leaned in to pass on this information my momentum was abruptly stopped in its tracks.
People…as someone who has done his share of hard manual labor around other men, and as someone who has a lifetime of experience inside male locker rooms, I know a thing or two about body odor. But nothing I have ever encountered prepared me for the stench that greeted me at the CVS pharmacy counter. I was so stunned by the smell that I literally stepped back from the counter. A younger version of me would probably have blurted out, “Whoa!! Who died??” The mature, grown up version of me simply withdrew myself to a safe distance while wool cap girl entered my data. But, there was a problem. She couldn’t spell my name and asked for a clarification in a beautiful middle eastern accent. I cautiously leaned in to say, “D-U-N-N”. It was excruciating. When she disappeared around the corner to fetch my medicines I glanced at her co-workers across the way and one of them caught my eye and shrugged her shoulders at me as if to say, “You think you’ve got troubles? Try working with her all day.” Although this woman smelled like a cross between George Kennedy in Cool Hand Luke and the janitor at a Turkish bathhouse, she was efficient and friendly.
As I was driving home I started to wonder about her. Is she even aware that she smells? Is it a cultural thing with people from the Middle East? Maybe for them, I smell bad. My morning routine involves the generous application of a wide variety of distinct smells, from my shampoo to my body wash, deodorant and aftershave. Maybe when someone from Egypt encounters me I smell like some kind of rancid walking fruit salad. Its all what you’re accustomed to, I suppose.
Maybe next time I’ll use the drive thru.
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