A Stinking Suspicion

If only such mysteries could be so easily solved.

Today, on the way to the previously-mentioned epic exam of the millenium, I was fortunate enough to find myself in the lush cabins of Singapore's fine MRT trains during the morning rush hour. I did have the option of taking my trusty car, but out of a hope that there would be plans with certain people to "celebrate" the end of the exams after the said paper, and the fact that the sister needed the car in the early afternoon, I opted for public transport. I ended up going straight home after the paper.

Now, those fantastically loyal readers of this humble blog may come to realise that I almost always have a weird experience or story whenever I to indulge myself and make my way onto one of the those contraptions that don't go choo-choo. I have a sneaking suspicion that the public transport Gods hate me for some reason and shape their realm to make my time in between strangers as difficult as possible.

This time, I entered the cabin and immediately sensed an aura of annoyance. I was annoyed, have been since last night (Man Utd beating Portsmouth 2-0 helped slightly), and the feeling seemed mutual among my fellow passengers. So I sighed, slumped, strode half a step in and craftily slotted myself into a gap among the tired bodies. Then I whipped out my trusty iPod and proceeded to enjoy some music. And then it happened.

The stench was deafening, and the grimace of those around me assured me I was not alone in my discomfort. I looked around, trying to identify the inconsiderate stinker, but it seemed that eeryone around me was equally stupefied or I had before me at elast one world-class actor that Mediacorp should seriously look into hiring, because frankly, the talent on show on Channel 5 is as appealing as another COM 125 exam.

So I proceeded to play detective, staring into the faces of the others caught in the acrid cloud.

Suspect 1: Chinese male, late twenties to early thirties. Skinny, sweat stains on light blue shirt and with a huge mole on the back of his neck that looks like a beetle making a home in his hair.

Suspect 2: Old Malay woman, may be referred to as a tudungster by certain individuals. Squinty eyesm hobbled to a seat and stared at person until he evacuated.

Suspect 3: Chinese male, Poly student from an educated guess. Evacuated seat after being glared at by Malay woman. Looked uncomfortable, be it from the seat situation or other bodily functions.

Suspect 4: Indian male, dark-skinned. What most would call a Bangla though no indication of ethnicity or profession was evident. Did have dirt stains on his pants, alone and not holding hands with other Indian males. No particuclar odor.

Suspect 5: Youn - No, Slightly old malay woman trying to look young. Later revealed to be friend or relative or earlier tudungster. Applied strange-looking mascara to a face that already had enough make-up to carpet Sentosa, oblivious to the fact that the amount of make-up she had could also probably help in Singapore's effort to reclaim land.

Suspect 6: Chinese female. Student, probably. Reading Harry Potter book. Blacklisted for poor literary choice.

Suspect 7: Chinese female. Middled aged woman with dyed hair that looked like a mess of copper wire. Fumbled around with LV bag. Possibly fake.

Suspect 8: Old Chinese male. Position himself behind me, and held his hands over his crotch the entire journey.

I will admit that my initial reaction to the emergence of the less-than-savory aroma in the cabin was to eye to Indian male with my best "OMG-WTF-Did-you-just-fart-in-a-crowded-train" stare. I was going to, but I found out the hard way that keeping my head level resulted in extra strong whiffs of the vapor whenever I tried to breathe. So I stared at the ceiling, trying to keep my nose above the threshold of the insidious gas. I noticed others doing the same, though Miss Harry potter was too short and looked like she was going to throw up over her stupid little book.

At the next stop a few people got out and I slid effortlessly away from the throng of people, being both considerate to boarding passengers and not wanting to be overwhelmed by the fart fumes. From this relatively safe distance, I again tried to pinpoint the culprit, the fiendish fart fellow. Still, no clues.

I arrived at my stop without furthur developments or emissions, and exitted casting a swift glance over my shoulder at the few still in the cabin. I swear the mascara woman was scratching her bum. Damn her.