itsoverbuddyboyo
mentally ill subhuman
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2019
- Posts
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Besides some of the blatant disregards for hygiene and cleanliness, does the Indian diet play a role in body odor? If someone could give an educated, unbiased answer, that'd be great. Thanks.
"I live in a building with a lot of Indian families and college students. They're not that...clean. They throw garbage in the hallways. They leave garbage in the laundry room, and throw the lint from the dryer on the floor. They talk loudly on cell phones in the hallways at any time of the day or night."
www.buzzfeed.com
“Oh, you’re here, take this, wear it, now” he said, in characteristically short sentences, handing me a bottle of pink cologne. It smelled sweet, like someone had imagined the smell of flowers, but not like flowers themselves — stark, rousing, like the ones my mother wore in her hair. “I can’t, I don’t like it”, I said to him, thinking about Ma, thinking about home, and everyone’s mutual aversion to thick, cosmetic smells.
“Okay, alright, then, you’re fired,” he said. More short sentences. “I am?” I asked.
“Yes.” He answered. “You smell like curry, we don’t want the customers to complain.”
There is an Indian guy visiting my office today and he SMELLS
He's a young, well-dressed guy (J. Crew-Banana Republic type clothes). He speaks pretty good English so he's obviously been in the country a while. What the hell is wrong with him?
www.datalounge.com
"I live in a building with a lot of Indian families and college students. They're not that...clean. They throw garbage in the hallways. They leave garbage in the laundry room, and throw the lint from the dryer on the floor. They talk loudly on cell phones in the hallways at any time of the day or night."
"You Smell Like Curry, You're Fired"
When you grow up in India, curry isn’t really a smell. It isn’t even a word. But on one day at my bartending job in Brussels, I was told I smelled like curry. And became, in one instant, reduced to a dish.
“Oh, you’re here, take this, wear it, now” he said, in characteristically short sentences, handing me a bottle of pink cologne. It smelled sweet, like someone had imagined the smell of flowers, but not like flowers themselves — stark, rousing, like the ones my mother wore in her hair. “I can’t, I don’t like it”, I said to him, thinking about Ma, thinking about home, and everyone’s mutual aversion to thick, cosmetic smells.
“Okay, alright, then, you’re fired,” he said. More short sentences. “I am?” I asked.
“Yes.” He answered. “You smell like curry, we don’t want the customers to complain.”
