Sniffer

In dogs, it is a positive boon. Indeed many make a very success career out of it but there’s no excuse for a middle-aged man. Even in scuffed shoes. And looking for a new job. It didn’t stop him though. From sniffing for a hundred miles. In a sealed train carriage.

In fact, at first I wondered if it wasn’t the pneumatic door gone wrong such was the regularity and rhythm of it. Not just the odd breath here and there but every single time he inhaled. Sniff, sniff. Every single bloody time. Every single time.

And it’s not a sound one can ignore. -sniff- It’s not like a close relative’s fart or door-to-door salesman ringing the bell. -sniff- Of course I tried to block it out. I buried my nose in a newspaper. -sniff- I started humming gently. At one point I burst into a rousing chorus of Jerusalem.

Still it was there. Like a rush of air through the valve of a unicycle’s tyre bumping down steps.

I started thinking bad thoughts. I thought about loading a horse’s nose bag with pepper and putting it around his neck. I imagined placing a frizzy-haired child beneath his nostrils so that he’d choke on her inhaled locks. I considered releasing millions of Mayflies in the hope that they might nest in his nasal passages.

Of course I did nothing. But seethe.

And he did nothing but sniff.

But the Good Lord knows how much one man can take. Just at the point when I was calculating the likely success of bludgeoning him to death with a rolled-up newspaper, we arrived at my stop. I prized my fingernails from the Formica tabletop. Feeling shaky, I rose to my feet. Like a blind man I felt my way to the door. I fell onto the platform and into quiet non-sniffing paradise. I was free.

But as the train doors closed, he destroyed my ecstasy. The sound of a single sniff slipped out. I snapped.

“A handkerchief! A handkerchief, you bastard!” I screamed, banging wildly on the window. “A handkerchief! Use a fucking handkerchief!”

The train was moving now.

I ran alongside, walloping the glass with my fist.

“A fucking handkerchief! Use a handkerchief! A handkerchief!”

I remember firm hands taking hold of me then nothing.

Comments

[LondonGirl]

Sniffing drives me crazy. I have to either say something or move!

[Mrs RW]

My goodness, this used to drive my mother CRAZY! This is what they make pocket-packs of tissues for. Maybe you should start carrying a box of tissues around, just for these types of situations...just a thought.

[Carlton]

I'm with you, LondonGirl on this. Just move. But it offends my sense of justice that I should go. And in this case, the train was so jam-packed that there was no where to go. Damn it.

Tissues! You might have something there, Mrs RW!

c

[rob]

sounds to me like you missed your chance to strangle the irritant.