Funky But Not So Fresh

Every office has a least one, the Pepe Le Pew-fessional, if you will. In my office, it’s Bob, a.k.a the crop duster. That’s right, he drops his methane load and flies away so that his gas lingers long after he is out of sight. Less serious offenders include the perfume shower-er and the scented lotion abuser—she can’t help that her Bath & Body Works Warm Harvest Apple isn’t keeping her elbows moisturized in the frigid office air, or that the smell reminds her of distant autumn afternoons spent lazily waiting for freshly baked pie to cool on the window sill, or diving into orange and rust colored piles of freshly raked leaves, but I digress. The skilled crop duster will release in an elevator right before he steps out so that when you are left in the 5x5 space, and another chump enters the lift, the accusatory eyes land on you and you have no way to defend yourself to this stranger, who doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for your suffering from IBS or hate you for having to ride with your funk down 37 floors.