I arrived a little late to work, so missed all the fun of searching for the mouldering carcass. Chicken carcass, that is – lest you imagine one of my coworkers, eager to put in a little overtime, died at his desk, unnoticed, in the night. That’s happened to people I know, at other companies.
No, it was just lunch. Someone’s forgotten leftovers, left a little too long at room temperature. I missed the fun, but having lost a whole chicken in my car trunk for a week, I know the smell. I actually feared someone had stuffed a murder victim in my trunk, once it wafted up to the driver’s seat, finally. I had a witness with me, when I opened the trunk.
Just a chicken.
Nasty smell, that. Ripe, dead chicken. Similar to “bird that fell into the dryer vent and couldn’t get out again.”
Not a suitable offering to the loa, I’m sure. Maybe Cthulu would like it.
You know what’s worse than the smell of rotting chicken carcass? (Besides other forms of rotting dead things?) Trying to cover it up with “air freshener.” Unless you like the smell of flower-scented body rot, you should probably just keep that spray in the drawer.
Speaking of fowl–er, foul–smells at the office, nothing says “I love my coworkers” better than fresh soap, laundry detergent, and a little non-chlorine bleach. Nervous sweat with a birdy-bath of Ysatis cologne isn’t endearing at all.
I’m going to give ethnic lunches a pass, but if we’re eating garlic, sardines, tripe, or Brussels sprouts, it would be a kindness to enjoy lunch in the break room – or better yet, hey! The sun’s coming back out and there are picnic benches over there – across the street! Yay!
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