B.O.Plenty

B. O. Plenty

By

Leo de Natale

Illustrations by Vince Giovannucci

In 1931, cartoonist Chester Gould created a newspaper comic strip, Dick Tracy. It was immensely popular and introduced America to a cast of characters that became household names. One of them was a disheveled roustabout named B. O. Plenty, who, as the name implied was a skank before the word was invented. He had dirty hair, wore a pith helmet and wasn’t too clean. Mr. Plenty is the inspiration for this essay.

          Rosamond “Roz” Chabot is a  trainer at an exclusive physical fitness center located in downtown Boston. In her late 20’s, Roz was a three-sport athlete at the University of Michigan.  She majored in biomechanics and health sciences.  An unapologetic jock, she decided after graduation to pursue a career in health and fitness.  Despite the onslaught of obesity in America,  many people  are  committed to maintaining or improving their health.  Physical fitness is a growing industry. 

Fitness programs vary from local, low-budget gyms to more expensive and exclusive facilities that employ people like Roz.  There is also  increasing popularity of exercise equipment like the $5,000 Peloton stationary bicycles for those who eschew organized gym programs. 

An ebullient woman with good interpersonal skills,  Roz is  perky, stands 5’8”, has azure blue eyes and dirty blonde hair.  She has the lucky combination of good looks, competency and an ego she keeps in check.   She always cares about her clients and strives to improve their health and fitness.  She works at Ba’Hai Health in Boston’s financial district.  Roz also has a marvelous sense of humor, except for the day after the Covid 19 mask regulations were finally lifted.  She always kept a mask handy. Some clients still wore them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Jean Claude and Marie.  I’m Roz Chabot”, she said. “This is your first day at the Ba’hai fitness, correct?”

“Oui, excusez moi, yes,” Jean Claude Du Bois said with his French accent.

As senior fitness trainer, Roz’s task is to assess client level of conditioning and customize an appropriate workout regimen. The DuBois had recently arrived from France and were both working at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT); Jean Claude was a biochemical researcher, Marie an economics professor. The couple were in their early 40’s and were feeling the need for an exercise program.

Jean Claude was tall, about 6’1”, very polite and handsome. Roz looked at him and noticed how much he resembled actor Russell Crowe. Marie was, like many French women, brunette and brown-eyed. A beauty. Both were born and raised in Paris.

Roz ushered the couple into a small meeting room to discuss their needs. Unfortunately, the meeting didn’t start well and rapidly went downhill. Once the door was closed, Roz turned to them and Boom!, she was figuratively thrown against the wall. Both husband and wife had the worst body odor –B.O.- she’d ever encountered. It was the equivalent of a Muhammad Ali upper cut that snapped her head back. She had difficulty breathing due to the stench and thought how could these two Europeans be oblivious to the acrid odor assaulting her olfactory system. Quick on her feet, she retrieved her blue Covid mask.

“Uh, let’s leave here and go the main gym,” Roz deftly said.  “There’s more room out there, and, unless you object, I still prefer masking.”

I could use a sixty-foot distance from these two stinkers, she thought. Roz’s experience was compounded by another cultural difference.  Both Jean Claude and Marie had greasy hair that probably hadn’t been shampooed for several days.  Not a pretty sight.  She desperately wanted to say, “Time to change that oil, you two!”.  

The final note of their sanitation issues was Jean Claude’s dirty fingernails. I can’t believe I’m interacting with two highly educated persons who don’t have a clue about physical appearance or hygiene, she said to herself.

Roz hoped someone at MIT would eventually prep them on hygiene rules and regs.   As the head trainer, she  dealt with many well-heeled professionals.  These two would not make the cut as her clients.  The Parisians would  be passed along to a staff member. 

American society places a high value on personal hygiene. Countless soaps and men’s and women’s deodorants are continually advertised. Daily showering is the norm. Most Americans wouldn’t dream of leaving home without utilizing such products. Europeans mock us for our obsession with cleanliness.

For example, after World War II, soldiers returning from Europe had many stories about cultural differences and fundamental views on hygiene.  B.O. was the norm.  Europeans simply didn’t often wash themselves, especially the French.  That reputation unfortunately continues.   Both sexes smelled; women didn’t shave their arm pits or legs.  B.O., clinically known as bromihidrosis, occurs when apocrine glands located in hairy  parts of the human body secrete fluids that combine with skin bacteria.   The chemical reaction causes the stench.  Some wag once quipped a European’s B.O.  would knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.

Roz felt obligated to assess the couple’s needs. Wearing the Covid mask and maintaining the now unnecessary social distance, she sat at her laptop and asked them what was most important.

          “We would like to increase our physical fitness,” Jean Claude said with a Gallic lilt. “I’m in the laboratory most of the day and Marie is teaching three courses.  We come home and we’re tired.”

She entered the data, coded her assessment and plan and the computer instantaneously produced a daily routine.

“Well, I’ve devised a daily regimen for you both,” she said and promised to email the details. “For the first few weeks, you’ll need to meet with us here so we can assess your progress. I’m having Kurt, our team leader, help you go through the exercises. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

          Roz left the Dubois and  dashed toward the gym exit.   She left the building, removed her mask and gasped.   Ah, I can breathe again, she exclaimed.

Roz didn’t realize this was going to be a bad day at the office. Her next club member was Peter V. Coolidge, a highly successful hedge fund manager. Peter was a quintessential Yankee. In his late forties, he was very much a blueblood.

          He grew up in Concord, MA and was a double Harvard – undergraduate and business school.  Having those credentials gave him a leg up in career trajectory.  He came from old money and was making new money.  An obscenely large amount of money.  He was married with three children, drove an $80,000 Audi and lived on Cambridge’s exclusive Brattle Street.

Regardless of social station, middle age rears its ugly head.  Peter’s body was getting soft and he’d developed a gut.   He’d been a varsity lacrosse player at Harvard and, like Roz, a natural athlete.  But that was yesterday.  Peter tried to maintain his fitness but time and Covid, like most of us, had affected his diet and activity.  I need to get back in shape, he thought.

          So here he was at the health club meeting with Roz.  He was a handsome man of average height.  He possessed a shock of brown hair flecked with gray.  In the era of grunge and relaxed clothing, he was an oasis of tasteful business attire –suit,  necktie, starched white shirt and highly polished dress shoes.

          Once again, Roz greeted her client and ushered him into the meeting room where the Dubois’s odor still lingered.  It was déjà vu all over again.  She was about two feet away from Peter when he said “Hello. Hi, Roz.  I’m Peter Coolidge.”

Peter did not have B.O. but the two H’s-hello and hi – were a blast furnace of bad breath. Yup, it was evil halitosis, an affliction that transcends socioeconomic status. Once again, Roz’s head was pummeled. She found herself arching her back to avoid further onslaught. This is not my day, she thought. The breath was foul and had an acidic smell that forced her to increase her social distance from Mr. Coolidge.

She again donned the mask which helped. Does this guy realize his mouth is a lethal weapon? I’ll rename it Brahmin Breath, she declared. One exhalation could kill plants, wilt flowers and dissolve chrome off an automobile bumper. The poor dentists who deal with this condition could qualify for hazardous duty pay, she said to herself.

Roz was the most popular and sought-after trainer.  She felt obligated to accommodate Peter.   She decided she could tolerate his breath – it was better than the B.O. Twins.  She would merely maintain a buffer zone. The masks would help.  She queried him about his goals and asked questions about diet and exercise.

          “Here’s a printout of my assessment and plans, Peter,” she said.

“Let’s schedule twice weekly meetings.  Follow the instructions on these pages and I know you’ll be getting fit.  I’ll also email you a copy.   See you soon!”

It was lunchtime and Roz again left the building to breathe welcomed fresh air.  She daydreamed about walking through a  forest in her native Colorado.  Aromas there would be a wonderful antidote for today’s nasal trauma.  Time for a sandwich and some mineral water, she thought.

          Returning to the fitness center, Roz saw three new clients with joint pain and various orthopedic maladies  that were straightforward and easy.  The clients were congenial and their problems would easily be solved.

Her last client of the day would complete the cycle that started her morning. Clyde Bunting was a CPA working for one of the Big Three accounting firms. Despite spending his entire day staring at a computer, he was quite fit. He was spindly tall and prematurely bald. His hands were enormously large and perfect for his leisure activity of rock climbing. Clyde had been climbing at Tuckerman’s Ravine in New Hampshire. He unfortunately grabbed a rock that became loose and fell six feet. He had fractured his right knee cap and tibia bone and arrived at Ba’Hai with a knee brace and crutches.

Clyde underwent surgery. He would walk again, the orthopedic surgeon told him, but he’d would require extensive physical therapy.

Roz reviewed the pre and post-operative xrays. Clyde’s tibia sustained a severe break that required many screws and metal plates inserted during surgery. According to the surgeon, the prognosis was good. However, there’d been considerable muscle wasting after the surgery. Many leg injuries or surgeries cause loss of muscle mass. The job of a physical therapist/trainer is, through exercise, to strengthen the leg muscles, especially the quadriceps.

To arrive at an accurate assessment of the leg and muscles, Roz told Clyde to don a Johnny gown. She wanted to inspect the thigh and lower leg. This is where she hit today’s trifecta. With shoes and stockings removed, Roz examined the leg, and wham!, lightning struck again. Clyde’s feet smelled like Gorgonzola, “the pungent Italian bleu cheese”. She began gagging and was afraid she’d wretch. Quickly, she donned two masks.

Clyde suffered from bromodosis, the medical term for smelly feet. Once again, bacteria located in the feet are the culprits. They thrive in a warm, dark environment when covered with stockings, especially if the socks are dirty. Bromodosis can be controlled with meticulous hygiene but body chemistry and genetics can complicate the odor problem.

Like dentists, podiatrists deal daily with such biochemical weapons of mass destruction. Feet are one of the most unattractive human body parts. Clyde is one person who wouldn’t be playing much footsie and certainly not with Roz.

She suffered through the evaluation process, developed a therapy regimen. She liked Clyde and was sympathetic to his horrific accident. A broken tibia would probably require months of rehabilitation. It was a challenging case and with masks scented with Shalimar perfume, she was determined to help this man.

          Her profession was one of healing  patients who  experience pain and also  involves persons who care about their health by losing weight and becoming physically fit.  The big question is how to deal with clients whose  odor problems are impediments.   How does one diplomatically reveal this to him?  It’s a social hand grenade and thus far no one has solved the problem.

Roz’s work day was finally done. On her way home, she stopped at a drug store and bought a package of pine tree-shaped car fresheners having an elasticized loops. Many people hang them from their automobile rear view mirrors. After the olfactory assault she decided to mainline and held the scented tree under her nose for her 45 minute commute home. It smelled good. Really good.