Yet more smelly colleagues
One gentleman I worked with had hardly any teeth left. He was in his late twenties I think. His excuse was that he couldn't find an NHS dentist.
Every day for lunch, he'd get a sandwich in a triangular box, and bottle of coke, and a packet of extra stinky beef flavoured crisps. He'd then eat this at his desk. Having done so, his fingers would therefore be covered in a beefy slime that would stay on anything he touched.

I would have to go on business trips with this character, and sit opposite him at breakfast in a hotel whilst he ate a baked bean sandwich. Ever such a nice bloke, just a bit slimy.

Second colleague used to sit opposite me. The pikey chav king, as hairy as a badger's arse and about four foot tall. This crappy office didn't have aircon, so everyone had a stupidly noisy fan on their desk that blew papers around.

When this troglodyte came back from having a fag, I'd have to turn my fan to blow into his face so that I didn't have to breathe his stinky breath. He asked why I did that, and I forget my exact words, but he said "Are you saying I smell?" "Er, yeah, that's what I'm saying."

(It turned out he was working nights as a welder in order to feed his drugs habit. He then pretended to be ill, sold his company laptop on ebay, and went on a spending spree with the company fuel card. But that's another story as they say.)
(Bob the Builder killed Captain Alex, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 22:55, Reply)