Rush Is Awesome. Rush Fans Stink.
The hell of it is, my sense of smell is extremely stunted; whatever scent miseries I suffered, people with normal noses felt ten times worse. My concertgoing partner had quietly complained to me about the stench soon after the stinking man sat down; since I didn't notice anything I could only give him a sympathetic smile and my standard witticism: "I'm glad I can't smell things, because the world really stinks." I noticed nothing until the band broke into "Freewill," which made the Human Stinkbomb so excited he threw his hands in the air and OH MY GOD THE STENCH.
Still, it wasn't too bad so long as the man kept his arms by his side. A few minutes later I felt a huge thump on the back of my chair, as though someone kicked it as hard as possible, and before I'd turned around to see what was going on I heard a mortified woman's voice saying "Sorry! Sorry! Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I'll buy you a new shirt! I'll go down and buy you a shirt right now!"
I thought this a rather excessive apology for one mere kick to my chair, until I realized she was actually talking to the man sitting next to me, on whom she had just spilled her entire cup of beer.
So the man next to me stank like sour beer through no fault of his own, while the man in front of me simply stank. And I discovered another way etiquette fails to account for human necessity: there is also no polite way to leave your seat at a concert (requiring everyone between you and the aisle to stand up), introduce yourself to a stranger sitting in the middle of another row, and say, "Sir, can I please have a couple hits off your joint there? It's not even that I want to get stoned, so much as I'm hoping to not-notice how many Rush fans in my immediate vicinity really, really stink."
So I didn't.