The Frisbee and the Sweaty Man

Every Saturday I head down to the local park to play some frisbee. Imagine less college douchebag with long hair, sandals and a lack of hygiene, and more intense, aggressive competition. It’s a solid three hours of running, jumping, throwing, catching and crying. Well, that last one’s just me.

I got home a short while ago. As I write this, I’ve lost function of the lower part body thanks to the absolute flogging I gave myself this morning playing Ultimate. Right now I’m about as useful as a man who has been playing frisbee all morning and now has really sore legs.

Subtle joke that one.

And while I think Frisbee is great, and I’m more than happy to talk about it, it’s not the central theme of this blog; rather it’s the context for the real story.

So let me set the scene. I’ve finished up my games for the weekend, and I’m heading home a bit exhausted and sweaty. Fair enough really. My legs are somewhat buggered, so I hop on a bus that takes me back. I sit in front of another passenger who seems to be minding their business. So far everything is normal. I have my headphones in listing to a podcast, drinking some water and minding my own business. Then it happens.

I don’t know whether the man behind me had a secret love of sweaty strangers, but I certainly tickled his fancy. I was enjoying my podcast when I felt something on the back of my head. I put my hand around to see what it was, but nothing was there. Whatever, I’m probably just imagining things. A few moments later I feel it again.

Here’s the thing though at this point in my podcast everything was silent, so I was able to hear the sounds on the bus again. As I felt the pressure on the back of my head, I heard a massive sniff.

A massive sniff.

This strange man has decided that my sweat-filled hair was so enticing, that he just had to get better acquainted with it.

Now, I’m not sure if any of you have been sniffed on a bus before, but It’s not something I deal with on a frequent basis. I’ve not been presented this situation very often, so I regret to say I didn’t confront the man. Instead, I waited for the next stop, hopped off the bus and walked the rest of the way home.

I’ve had four showers already, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel clean again. It’s hard to write this from the foetal position, so I’m going to stop now.

 

A massive fucking sniff.

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