My co-workers reception to herald my return to work after recent illnesses (Christmas / flu, New Years / severe cold) was marred by an all-too-common office complaint: Booty Funk.
IÂd arrived early, as usual, to prepare my personal items for another action-packed, thrilling round of QuickBooks, babysitting clients and other duties as assigned: The Rolling Stones DVDs, fresh fruit and vegetables, squeezy bottles of water, Basenotes tea mug (which doubles as a martini mug after office hours).
Sitting at my desk, I noticed a faint nacreous odor. ÂSniff, sniff, sniff, I cautiously explored. No it wasnÂt me.
A sinuous, undulating vapor began to assault my still somewhat fragile olfactory system, weakened by sickness.
Had second shift gone out for chicken and ribs and not emptied the trash bins? Were my co-workers penicillin / mold experiments with past-expiration date foods in the refrigerator nearing fruition?
Being a sensitive person, I delicately asked, ÂYvette, what the hell is that stink?Â
Yvette hadn't noticed it. My imagination and senses reeled. The Jones Island sewerage treatment plant? The stockyards? Â*My nieceÂs poopy diapers?
No. It was the chair I was sitting in. Someone with a ripe, stanky Â*____ had sat in my chair. And my body heat had reactivated the funk. And worse - what if the funk had transfered to me?
It was my chair, alright. Not too hard and not too soft but just right. IÂd taken it to my parents house to lovingly reupholster the seat with new high-density foam to cushion my tender princess tush and cover it with material the same shade of green as Mick JaggerÂs outfit he wore at the Milwaukee County Stadium in 1975 per photographs on loan to The Veronica Collection. Someone had the nerve to sit in my chair. And pollute it with her pungent booty funk.
IÂve encountered this problem before. Lysol does not rid a chair of these demons. Nor does the janitorÂs ÂStinkAway generic aerosol , although it promises to kill rhino (?). This called for drastic measures. Â* Â*
Trying not to retch by subjugating my gag reflex, I scurried to my locker to retrieve my trusty 4.2 oz. / 125 ml Â*Guerlain Vetiver. Approximately thirty sprays later (and a half-hour drydown), Battalion Chief Veronica pronounced the six-alarm funk out. (I would have used the Guerlain two liter high-volume, high-pressure Vetiver emergency stink extinguisher BUT THERE IS NO SUCH THING.)
People complain about stolen lunches, perpetual tardiness of co-workers, gossiping, etc. I think Booty Funk is the leading office problem.
I know there are room sprays marketed towards the more discriminating consumer (which have been used as fragrances by imaginative Basenoters), but IÂve never heard of using a frag to de-stinkitize a socially awkward situation. Â*
IÂd arrived early, as usual, to prepare my personal items for another action-packed, thrilling round of QuickBooks, babysitting clients and other duties as assigned: The Rolling Stones DVDs, fresh fruit and vegetables, squeezy bottles of water, Basenotes tea mug (which doubles as a martini mug after office hours).
Sitting at my desk, I noticed a faint nacreous odor. ÂSniff, sniff, sniff, I cautiously explored. No it wasnÂt me.
A sinuous, undulating vapor began to assault my still somewhat fragile olfactory system, weakened by sickness.
Had second shift gone out for chicken and ribs and not emptied the trash bins? Were my co-workers penicillin / mold experiments with past-expiration date foods in the refrigerator nearing fruition?
Being a sensitive person, I delicately asked, ÂYvette, what the hell is that stink?Â
Yvette hadn't noticed it. My imagination and senses reeled. The Jones Island sewerage treatment plant? The stockyards? Â*My nieceÂs poopy diapers?
No. It was the chair I was sitting in. Someone with a ripe, stanky Â*____ had sat in my chair. And my body heat had reactivated the funk. And worse - what if the funk had transfered to me?
It was my chair, alright. Not too hard and not too soft but just right. IÂd taken it to my parents house to lovingly reupholster the seat with new high-density foam to cushion my tender princess tush and cover it with material the same shade of green as Mick JaggerÂs outfit he wore at the Milwaukee County Stadium in 1975 per photographs on loan to The Veronica Collection. Someone had the nerve to sit in my chair. And pollute it with her pungent booty funk.
IÂve encountered this problem before. Lysol does not rid a chair of these demons. Nor does the janitorÂs ÂStinkAway generic aerosol , although it promises to kill rhino (?). This called for drastic measures. Â* Â*
Trying not to retch by subjugating my gag reflex, I scurried to my locker to retrieve my trusty 4.2 oz. / 125 ml Â*Guerlain Vetiver. Approximately thirty sprays later (and a half-hour drydown), Battalion Chief Veronica pronounced the six-alarm funk out. (I would have used the Guerlain two liter high-volume, high-pressure Vetiver emergency stink extinguisher BUT THERE IS NO SUCH THING.)
People complain about stolen lunches, perpetual tardiness of co-workers, gossiping, etc. I think Booty Funk is the leading office problem.
I know there are room sprays marketed towards the more discriminating consumer (which have been used as fragrances by imaginative Basenoters), but IÂve never heard of using a frag to de-stinkitize a socially awkward situation. Â*
