The Air Up There

During a recent cross-country flight, I reluctantly discovered that the feet of the woman seated next to me smelled remarkably like Parmesan cheese.

I say “reluctantly” because this was not knowledge that I sought. Rather, it wafted into my awareness just prior to take-off for our four-hour flight from San Jose, California to Chicago, Illinois.

It wasn’t a pleasant smell. You know how certain cheeses – like blue and sharp varieties – can smell a little bit like vomit? It was that smell. And despite attempting to aim my tiny overhead blower full force to intercept the smell of her cheese feet, the stink was persistent. It would not be denied.

Parmesan Cheese feet...in the flesh

Shoeless Section?

This caused me to consider a question that I’ll admit I’m grappling with: Should planes enforce a “shoes on” policy? Or, perhaps, should they provide those passengers who want to remove their shoes with other accommodations. For example, what about a “shoes off” section that hearkens back to the smoking sections of the past? Or perhaps include some floral scented “Foot Refresher” wipes in the seat-back next to the barf bag.

Planes, I realize, already have lots of rules. Generally this is a good thing given that these sleek craft soar to 35,000 feet in the air and reach speeds of over 500 miles per hour all while carrying hundreds of people crammed together in a relatively small space.

Rules keep us all safe and provide for an orderly, reasonably comfortable experience while flying. But in considering this potential “shoes on” rule, I will highlight the “relatively small space” part of my description of air travel.

Planes are tight. Just recently I read that Boeing’s new big innovation is to make the bathrooms on their planes smaller so that they can cram in as many as 14 more seats. Seriously? How can an airplane bathroom get any smaller? Perhaps airlines and their respective investors will love this innovation, but I can guarantee passengers will not.

Right to Clean (non-smelly) Air

Flights can be difficult, especially long ones. People have the right to be comfortable. But do they have the right to make themselves comfortable while making others uncomfortable? When we’re in a plane, we’re all breathing the same stale, recycled air, so bad smells tend to not go unnoticed. In fact, they’re amplified.

Now, the odor from Ms. Cheese Feet lady was bad, but it was tolerable. However, the experienced conjured up a difficult travel-related memory from the past that I’ve worked hard to forget. It also involved a woman’s feet on a plane.

It was a flight from Atlanta to Chicago, a route I’d taken hundreds of times. I was working as a consultant, living on the road 5 days a week. Hotels, restaurant food and air travel were part of my routine. I was a nomad of sorts, but it’s how I made a living. This life, however, was nearly snuffed out abruptly by the absolute nastiest foot odor I’d ever encountered in my life.

The woman barely made the plane. Unfortunately for me, she slipped on board just as the door was about to close. As I recall, a ruckus arose at the front of the plane and out of a hazy Pig-Pen-like cloud emerged a disheveled, wild-eyed middle-aged woman who promptly stumbled down the aisle and dropped into the vacant aisle seat next to me.

Her odor arrived a few seconds before she did physically. To grasp this smell, close your eyes and image you’re resting your nose in the center of a large ashtray overfilled with cigarette butts. On the bottom of the ashtray is a small puddle of cheap whiskey.

Defensively, I initiated immediate mouth breathing, but it was only partially successful. As much as I tried not to, I could actually taste this woman’s barroom odor. But it got worse quickly. She took her shoes off.  

As she slipped off a pair of sandal-like shoes that had a thick black band across the top, she exhaled a raspy “Oh, yeah, that’s much better,” to us surrounding passengers. She rubbed her puffy, chapped feet together. Her toenails were cracked and discolored, looking remarkably like Fritos corn chips.

I caught the vomit in my mouth before it made it past my lips. Thank God. To say that an evil green cloud swirled menacingly over her feet would be an exaggeration and somewhat inaccurate, but it would convey to you the absolute toxic, landfill-like stench that arose from her feet, seeped into our row, enveloped my head and nearly rendered me unconscious.

Surviving the Scent

Could she not smell this? The bigger question: How could I survive a two-hour flight to Chicago? That would be impossible. As I considered my options, it got worse. The plane stopped and the captain informed us Chicago’s O’Hare Airport was under ground stop. We’d be sitting for a while – most likely an hour.

My only move was to find another seat. I quickly spotted one several rows back, frantically collected my things and – despite the seatbelt sign being illuminated – darted past the woman and claimed my new seat. I am quite certain I saved my own life.

A Boeing 747 

Odor Sensor?

Perhaps an odor sensor should be on planes. It would be a button up above each seat in between the air vent and the flight attendant call button. Maybe it has the picture of a nose. The button both lights up and has a shameful sounding buzz to indicate that in this specific seat “conditions have developed that make the air unpleasant and unsafe.” The uncomfortable peer pressure this would create might preemptively thwart future barefoot offenders.

Now, I realize airplane farters – and you know who you are – will object to this. They seem to think it’s their inalienable right to fart at 30,000 feet. They would no doubt scoff at installing what I like to call the “seat siren”.

I will admit that any odor sensing device may prove complicated for those with generally bad hygiene or, for example, the hoodie and basketball shorts wearing man child next to me on another recent flight who snarfed down a foot-long salami sub before we took off then promptly fell asleep and proceeded to exhale vile half digested garlic salami breath in my direction for a full hour as we soared over Arkansas, Missouri and into southern Illinois.

I certainly realize this is an uphill battle and not one I’m likely to win. I understand. All of us humans are flawed. We do many wonderful things, but our feet tend to smell at the end of a long day.

I would just implore my fellow travelers that before you slip off your loafers ask yourself a few questions:

Are my feet currently capable of rendering someone unconscious? Might they smell like cheese? Am I in my living room at home on my couch – eating Pringles and watching “Golden Girls” reruns? Or am I in a public space – like a plane – where it’s possible I might be offending someone with my intensely foul smell?

I think if you answer these questions honestly, we’ll all be better off...together...in the air up there.