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" By Jerry Marty, 60, construction project manager, United States Antarctic Program The South Pole has a distinctive smell: a mixture of airplane fuel,snowmobile exhaust, and dirty laundry.  Dulles to L. A. to Auckland to Christchurch to Antarctica to the pole: It&amp;#039;s a pressure cooker the moment you step off the plane. There are twenty-four hours of daylight but nothing to see. It&amp;#039;s blue and white in every direction. No wildlife but for the 250 scientists, construction workers, and support crew.  We get two two-minute showers a week. You can smell us coming. You lose track of when the day begins and when it ends. Sleep deprivation is the norm.  Thirty percent of the population is female. Relationships do happen. A few have resulted in marriage, but most are relationships of convenience. They usually terminate on the plane ride home. We call ourselves Polies. We&amp;#039;re a haggard bunch.  Keeping up morale is huge. There are snow-sculpture contests and open-mic nights where anyone can get up and recite poetry or sing or play an instrument. Still, people go back to their rooms and watch DVDs on their computers. We talk a lot about work, even in the bathroom. If the boots in the next stall look familiar, be prepared to talk business. The coldest temperature I&amp;#039;ve seen down there is --89.5 degrees Fahrenheit. Put it this way: I&amp;#039;m a big Packers fan, and the bottom of the world is colder than Lambeau Field.  --AS TOLD TO KEVIN MCDONNELL "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/news/a726/esq0806wifl-114-8/>