Smelly customers and filthy housemates
I'll start with the customers. I work for a games retailer, so as you'd expect, some of our clientèle are hardcore, reeking, geeks.

There's a particular couple that come in once every few weeks, both of whom are large, look sort of like bikers, and fucking stink.

They smell so bad that after being in the store for 20 minutes on a hot summer's day last year, my manager emptied almost a full can of air freshener, only to find the place still stank for hours. Horrible.

As for the housemate, I'm coming to the end of my first year at uni, and I'm living with two blokes I've known for years now. One of them is clean enough, but the other... there is a distinct pile in our kitchen of filthy dishes and mugs, that've been there for almost 2 weeks, and he refuses to clean them. Much to my disbelief, there was even a mug of Coke with mold growing on it - given what Coke does to nails and coins, I'm shocked anything could live on it.

Anyway, he went over to Scotland this week, so in his absence, we put them all in his bed. His problem now!
(wraithUK, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:22, Reply)

McNelson
i work at a certain retail store that we shall call fwAP, for that rhymes with its name. its a single level shop in my home city and the door into the back is accessed via the fitting rooms. enter myself and my manager heading back at end of the day to cash up, and discovering a certain... pungence. upon further investigation said pungence erupts from semi closed fitting room in the form of a hair flailing arm waving stench dropping tramp, eye watering odour trail and all.

Next morning said pungence has not disappeared. hmmm says i, looking into his fitting rom and noticing a small brown mark at the top, *takes one step right* and in the next fitting room, several pieces of mr whippy turd, showered against the opposite wall. Said tramp had managed to catch and throw a mr whippy whilst hiding in our fitting rooms, then legged it for fear of discovery. one problem. BRIGHT RED COAT. much bannage ensued, and much closage and cleanage also.

/pop

Regards
(Justforyou love., Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:20, Reply)

Not only but torso
A very strange man called Mark used to share a house with two of my mates next door to the rents house.He was very much into CB radio and was allergic to sunlight so rated fairly high on the freak scale, yes he used to smell a bit but worse was to come.He used to go out most nights in his yellow Reliant Robin to see his girlfriend Suzy and on returning one day asked if it would be ok if she could come over to stay for the weekend coming. More out of curiousity his house mates said "yes mate no problem"......
I can vividly remember walking into the house on that Friday afternoon after college and meeting Suzy.
Suzy had no arms and no legs!(Insert slug joke here) Seriously No arms, No Legs! and was the most hiddeous swamp donkey I have ever met. Honestly she could've made an onion cry.
Saying I didnt know where to look is an understatement apart from the giggling mess in the corner that was Steve and Daryll.
After a very short introduction and very swift goodbye she was dispatched under Marks arm and carried upstairs. I dont know if they came out of that room all weekend but I went round on Monday and was greeted my a smell so piercing I wont ever forget it, I suppose you could understand a stagnant fishy smell but we were convinced that there was indeed something dead in that room.
The only smell to get anywhere near it was a visit to a rendering plant a few years later.
(The Hooded Fishfinger, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:12, Reply)

Dirt Woman
Most people at my college are self-respecting and hygienic young adults (after all, it's hard to get laid when you smell of dead animals), but there are several (also self-respecting and hygienic) middle-aged and older people who attend. This is fine; they actually read the material and distract the teacher in class so he doesn't call on the rest of us. But there is one in particular...

She is a fat woman with an extremely choppy mullet and a huge overcoat--she looks like a bag lady. I was first alerted to her presence when she entered the library room I was in... She stunk of dirt! Not body odor, DIRT like she had been rolling in fresh compost. It filled up the entire room.

I later enrolled in a English class that contained her. After a two hour class of the horrible earthy stink combined with her hogging the teacher, blabbing away, I quit.
(AlfishKK, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:11, Reply)

There was a bloke who used to work at Argos with me
whose smell was too horific to describe in writing.

This was made all the worse by the fact that you would have to rub past him in the stockroom as he was obesce.
( WormuIus, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:11, Reply)

Sweaty solo
A few years ago we were on a night out in Brum in the middle of a hot summer. The venue was a (then) new swanky place so we all had smart attire on.

My friend who shall remain nameless, was sporting a relatively expensive trendy new pale blue short sleeved shirt made out of a thick material and patterned such that I can describe it only as like fancy flock Victorian era wallpaper.

The inevitable occurs and friend starts sweating from the pits, profusely. Within no time at all large sweat patches are visible (pale shirt in hot weather, bad idea). Soon he has sweat patches on his chest and back to go with his now larger sweaty pit stains.

It got no better for the poor lad. After around half an hour of sweating, the patches had grown to such an extent that they became joined, even over his shoulders and his designer shirt looks like he's wearing a waistcoat over it. A proper Han Solo esque natty little number.

I found him in the gents stuffing bog roll under his armpits whilst trying to dry his shirt off under the hand dryer. I pointed out to him that as he'd been doing this for half an hour that he was fighting a losing battle and he agreed, gave up and got drunk.

Needless to say he didn't pull that night.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:08, Reply)

Eruptions
(related from parental tellings, so embellishments may already be provided: The crux of the story did actually happen, however)

Many many moons ago, when I was a but a mere little Moogling, I was averse to the act of washing. I'm talking when I was about 5 or 6... Looking back, it was probably something to do with the presence of a large black spider down behind the bath. It could have been just that I was a filthy little tyke, but I digress.

My mum had tried many different things to get me into or under water, but failed on all fronts. After discussion with the teachers at school, she decided to take a different tack... to let peer pressure take it's course, and have some abuse from friends about how bad I smelt bring me back out of the fold of the great unwashed.

Nice one, Mum.

All seemed to be going well. I hadn't had a bath for about 10 days, I was getting a little ripe, and I was starting to get quite a bit of stick in the playground (in fact the nickname of 'Stinker' stuck with me long beyond the end of this tale...)

Then something happened that brought the whole plan to naught. My teacher went off sick (with what I now know was a nervous breakdown). We had a substitute teacher lady to take her place while she recuperated.

First day was fine. Nothing really happened, apart from me probably getting a little stinkier.

Day two. Mid-morning. We sit down as normal for story time (remember, this is upper infants, or 'Year 2' as it's now called). I do not stay seated for long. I get called up to the centre of the group by the substitute teacher.

Unceremoniously, I get stripped to my vest and pants, and get given what was essentially a bed bath. With cold water from the art sink. And soap. And a sponge. In front of the rest of the class. Vigourously.

...

I loved it. My Mother was apparently less than impressed when she was told 'Mummy, I don't need to take a bath tonight, as the teacher washed me at school'

Headmasters were involved. If it happened today, I suspect police would be involved...

The house I now live in has a spider down behind the bath as well. But it doesn't bother me. I shower at the Gym, which also gives me an excuse to look at other men's willies.

That's the key. Spiders behind the bath made me gay.

I think I drifted a little towards the end there, but it's a Friday afternoon, so I think I'm excused.

Length? I've lost about a stone in weight, so apparently it's half an inch bigger than it used to be.
( moogthedog, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 15:06, Reply)

Flatmates.
I've lived with my fair share of unhygienic flatmates throughout my years of sharehousing. They've ranged from being just a little unclean to the worst smelling person I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.

On the mild end of the scale was Chas. He was a bit of a clean freak - his bedroom was always the neatest in the house, he kept shared areas very clean - except for when it came to his toilet habits. He managed to cover the floor and walls of the toilet with piss, radiating out over a foot from the bowl. Not only would he do this consistently, but he saw nothing wrong with it (not the smell, nor the sticky, wet feel of urine underfoot) and therefore refused to clean it up. We were fortunate to have a house with two toilets, one of them being out the back of the house, so for the entire year that Chas lived there, he was the only person to set foot inside his own personal toilet and he was banned from using the other one. So it wasn't too bad a situation, until he moved out and we discovered that he hadn't cleaned the toilet before he left. Let's just say that opening the door of a very small room and being greeted with the stench of a years worth of stale urine isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. There was a not inconsiderable amount of dry retching when we ventured in to clean it.

Jade was a puzzling case. She had a habit of eating in her room and letting the dirty dishes pile up in there for weeks at a time. Not really a problem, given that we had a helluva lot of dishes and that neither she nor her room ever smelt. The puzzling part came when it was discovered that not only were the dishes piled on the floor and her desk, but also in her bed. Both under the covers and on top of them. She couldn't understand why we thought it odd that she'd share a bed for days or weeks on end with dirty dishes, still smeared with food in varying stages of decay.

The very worst was Katie and her boyfriend Dan. Katie was my flatmate, but Dan was over visiting quite often, and it was he who remains the most repugnant person I've met.
Katie's hygiene habits were a little off when she was by herself. Whilst she spent an hour or so a day cleaning her face and putting on makeup and doing her hair, she didn't shower all that frequently - generally every two to three days. She did appear to be aware that this made her smell though, as on her non-shower days she'd drench herself in one of those horrid teen-girl spray deodorants. And the longer she'd been without a shower, the more deodorant she'd spray on.
Her room, always kept airtight with the door and windows firmly shut, also took on her unwashed smell. Possibly made worse by her not owning any bedsheets, and sleeping on a bare mattress. Having to talk to her whilst she was in her room was awful, as she'd open her door when you knocked and you'd be hit with a wall of smell.
But things were far, far worse when Dan was over. He was a very obese man (never understood the relationship - Katie was quite pretty and slim, and I'm sure that if she had been cleaner, she could have done a whole lot better than Dan) whose stench reached levels never smelt before nor since. He appeared to only own the one set of clothes, as he would wear the same shirt and pants when visiting for days straight, and would wear the exact same things every single time he was over. He also never showered whilst at our house. And whenever he was over, Katie wouldn't shower either. But whilst she was attempting to mask the smell with deodorant, he didn't use any at all. She would never mention if he was going to be at the house, but despite her bedroom being right at the back of the house, and her door always being shut, you could always tell if Dan was there as soon as you approached the front door. And although we initially didn't think it possible, the smell would almost double as soon as he'd take off his shoes. It would linger for days after he'd left, it was as though it seeped into the very fabric of the house. We tried opening windows, having fans on all the time, even placing saucers of vanilla essence (it works to get the smell of rancid food out of fridges) in the room in order to draw out the smell, but nothing would work. Nothing was more powerful than the smell of Dan.
I stand convinced that if the power of smell could be harnessed to create electricity, he could light up half the globe.
(teff, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:58, Reply)

The Smelly Guy
I work in a bar called the Fav in leeds. Every so often during the day a huge monster of a guy will come in and try to order a Blue WKD. We don't sell them, nor have we ever in the past two years I've worked there. Still, he always seems to want one.

Apart from this being rather annoying, the guy fucking REEKS. Always has the same tight kagool on with the hood up. If he stays in a room for more than 5 minutes you can smell him after he's left for an eternity. Apparently he lives in a mental home close by. We chuck him out now when he comes in. He's (un)affectionaltely known as 'The Smelly Guy'.
(PenrhynGwyndaf, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:56, Reply)

Kwik Save, Edgeley, Stockport - 1991
I had the luck and good fortune to work at Kwik Save in my student days - and we had a customer who could have no more appropriate nickname than 'Mrs Smelly'.

Heavily made up and wearing a nasty fur coat - no matter where you were in the store at the time - you knew the instant she entered the building.

If you were on the checkout it was like Russian Roulette, albeit with worse odds - about a 1 in 4 chance she'd choose your till.

The trick was to take a massive breath before she put her three or four items on the conveyor and hold it until she'd left. Unfortunately, although she would only buy a few items, she'd take an age to fish some small change out of a tiny purse.

Without fail you'd end up exhaling dramatically and have to take shallow breaths to avoid the taste of her foul stench, whilst oblivious to your gagging she'd drop £1.65 in coppers and small silver into your hand.

Mind you, she was nothing compared to our other stinking customer - Mrs Piss...
( scoshi pretending to diet since, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:50, Reply)

Oho joyous day!
...for now there is a topic I can partake in! (Not me, but the housemates of my boyfriend - whilst at 3rd year of uni...)

We didn't live together at uni, but since we were going out, we spent a lot of time at each others houses. For reasons unbeknown to me even now, the majority of the time we stayed around at his, even though he lived with complete s***monkeys (well to be truthful, it was a fun house if anything).

I shall list their evils here:

*the downstairs bathroom was not cleaned for the whole of the tenancy - so that if you were to take a shower, there would be huge globules of green slime above your head, threatening to goop all over you mid-shower. Thank f*** for the upstairs one (which either me or the boyf cleaned)

*the kitchen was rarely cleaned, dishes were left to fester so much that my boyfriend (who was one of the two long-suffering clean dwellers) resorted to getting a lock put on his cupboard, and washing up his stuff then locking it away.

*there was always fag ash/crisp packets/tissues *shudder*/beercans/food stuck in the crevices of the settee

*hardcore porn was left open on the bathroom floor, between the settee cushions (did i mention the tissues?)and on one occasion a centrefold proudly pinned up on the living room wall.

the list goes on.

oh, and they had an 'extra' flatmate come to live with them under the stairs. Yes, his 'room' was the unventilated cupboard under the stairs - complete with mattress and lamp.

...i think i cleaned their house more than i cleaned mine...
(littlebunnyfoofoo, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:49, Reply)

The Airport
While in college, I worked for an airline, we will call it Delta because that is their name. I worked at BWI Airport (Baltimore Washington Airport) and we had this one homeless guy that seemed to LIVE in the aiport.

One night, he came into my office complaining that he had lost a box and asking if I had it in my office (Baggage service). I told him no, I did not have it, primarily because I didnt. He stank so bad that I had to open a door that led out to the baggage area, which stank of jet fuel, just to clear the office out a bit.

He just sat there...and sat there...eventually he fell asleep and I woke him up and told him "You NEED to leave the office now. You CANNOT sleep here." And then I motioned to a passing State Police Officer to come in and move him along...and the Cop came in and explained the situation: they COULDNT kick him out of the airport because...wait for it...the guy had a ticket!

Apparently the guy IS an eccentric millionaire that literally LIVES in airports and the grounds for doing so is that he has pre-paid ticket vouchers! Tons of them! He flies from one airport to another and then stays a day or two at that airport, then flies to another airport, etc. It just so happened that Baltimore was his home base.

God he stank. I cant imagine what it must have been like to be on a small commuter plane with him.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:48, Reply)

Speaking of Toilets...
I was in Bar 1001 in Brick Lane a few months ago when I went to the toilet to find that, not only had the urinal (one of those metal trough type ones) been blocked somehow but that some twat had, I don't know, sat in it or something so that it was all bent out of shape. This meant that piss would miss the plug entirely and simply spill out onto the floor. Aside from the terrible stench it wasn't too much of a problem as there were a few, unoccupied loos next to it that were pretty clean so I relieved myself without too much fuss (having to hold my trousers up so that no piss based osmosis occured was probably the worst of it).

It was upon leaving said cubicle that I saw three guys just stood up against the broken metal, filthy, floor covered in an inch of piss urinal happily peeing away without a care in the world. One was even standing at the point where the overflow was so his shoes got a nice golden shower.

The scary thing was that they didn't even seem that pissed...

eep.
(GomiNoSensei has decided to stop lurking as of, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:42, Reply)

The wife
used to know a bloke called "Smelly Billy" (original I know, but a girl she knew was christened "Big Nose Helen". I'll let you work out why)

Anyhoo......

This bloke didn't wash his clothes, but when he took them off he threw them on top of a pile in a washing basket, and retrieve garments from the bottom of the pile. After a week or so, the dirty clothes he had just removed would filter down to the bottom of the pile, and the "clean" clothes would be retrieved for wearing again. This went on for weeks apparently.

It sounds like some sort of stinky perpetual motion machine.
(Pandaemonium, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:40, Reply)

My ex.
On more than one occasion I found my ex picking bits out of her front bottom area and putting them in her mouth...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
yeah, I dunno either....it was just weird. Too weird for me even to mention to her just how weird it was. Mind you, she could occasionally be mad as toast.
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:38, Reply)

Beaverheed
If anyone lives in Edinburgh, you'll almost certainly be aware of the 'Gentleman of the Road' whose hair is so matted it looks like a very large beaver's tail hanging down his back.

Beaverheed has a scraggy beard and a woolly hat with so many holes it appears to be only a few pieces of red string wrapped round his head.

I once spoke to a waitress on the otherside of the city who was aware of him.

THere are even rumours he's just an eccentric millionaire, but I haven't seen any evidence of that.

Anyone else seen him? Message me and alert me to his movements. We can all crack this mystery together, people.
(Barry Subchimp, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:31, Reply)

Darth Vegas...
I'd like to add the toilets at Rio's in Bradford. I've never had to pay attention to what footwear I've worn to a gig until I went there. Usually when I go out it's leopard print brothel creepers... when I go to Rio's it's heavy black combat boots that're fully waterproof to above the ankle.

It's not so much of a toilet as a swamp.
( SubCulture Hero ... ... He... .... Comes ... ...., Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:28, Reply)

yarrr
I once had a 'friend' that i met on a trip to a certain university a couple of years back. He was a nice enough, funny guy but very annoying and had a tendency towards the so geeky its unfunny. I mean, im all for geeky, i own the thundercats boxset for crissake, but thisguy once spent 72 hours straight on World of war craft and could write in perfect 'Leet'.
On a kind of reunion with said friends, he was part of a group, around a year later i find that he has not been out of the house for over three months because he didnt get in to uni and took a gap year. During this time he had apparently not left his seat playing Warcraft exept to eat, sleep and poop.
The guy had gained weight to the point of obese and had permanent sweat patches down his back and inner arms. i also find out that he had been living of coke and doritoes for this three months and had managed to develop scurvy. Bleeding gums, liverspots and a semi regular nosebleed, everything was there.
When we saw him he was undergoing treatment for it and when we went for lunch we, at great humour, found he had to eat baby food as well as citrus fruit for the extra vitamin c.
Needeless ot say after that we just left him to his warcraft.
Apologies for length girth and general volume.
(that lankygit, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:23, Reply)

Not naming names
(Martin) but there was this lad at my secondary who was the rattiest, smelliest bastard I'd ever had the displeasure of knowing. It got to a point where some of the others in my year started a petition entitled "Petition To Cleanse The Body Of ..."

Amazingly, this thing got signed by almost everyone in my year as well as many others in the school, before the head teacher got wind of what was happening and held an assembly, saying that she'll trace every signature and make sure they got disciplined.

This never happened, but I'm sure she probably signed it and handed it around the staff room.
( McBadger COW, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:16, Reply)

Darth Vegas
Oh christ, I'd forgotten about the World's End toilets....thanks for reminding me! I also saw an old bloke wake up from his slumber in the downstairs room, walk a few metres forward and start pissing all over the floor. Nice.

Anyway, I used to live with a domestically challenged bloke when I was in my second year at Uni. He washed every day so that was alright, but for some reason his bedroom floor was covered in soiled tissues...apparently with earwax juice after he'd flushed his ears out (waxy buildup problem) but I'm suspicious. Also one time he stacked up a load of glasses and left them by the sink - when I put them in the sink to wash them up (cos he never did any) I pulled them apart and found that one of them had been used as an ashtray, so filled the washing up bowl with ash and fag ends. We had words about that.
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:14, Reply)

stealth hobo
a few years back I was sitting on a bench outside the British library with a friend eating a sandwich. We were both eating egg mayo sandwiches and we were positive that they had gone off because they didn't smell right. After much sandwich sniffing and debate (it smells funny but tastes alright etc) I turned around to find a hobo (complete with huge straggly beard, bushy eyebrows and large scruffy coat (they always seem to have a large disgusting overcoat and it always seems to be the same sort of overcoat. Is there a hobo overcoat shop somewhere with a copyright?)). While my friend and I had been sat side by side, the hobo must have shuffled up on our blind side and sat on the bench behind us (stone bench, no back on it) whereby he proceeded to stare at us silently without moving. We immdiately vacated away from his aura and named him stealth hobo. Everytime I smell an egg mayo sandwich...I think of his pungent odours.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:07, Reply)

Worlds End

Most foul smelling things I have ever encountered...

1) A bowl of lentils left in water and covered for the best part of a week on a warm kitchen top. I smelt. I vomited. Go on, give it a go.

2) The mens toilets at the Worlds End pub in Camden. The amonia literally makes your eyes water and the stench it phenominal.
(Darth Vegas Poke It With A Stick, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:06, Reply)

Sheffield tramp
Back when I was living in Sheffield me and a mate used to eat our lunchtime sandwiches by the cathedral. There was one notable bloke wandering around who was clearly either a full-blown tramp or at least a sheltered housing case. He used to walk around the square in front of the cathedral with a massive bit of runny snot hanging out of his nose, picking up fag ends off the floor and putting them in his back pocket. One memorable time we saw him squatting by the wall of the cathedral doing a poo....you couldn't help but watch to be honest.

The thing is, if it wasn't for his clearly insane behaviour he could almost have passed for a normal (if a bit dirty) old man, which makes me think he wasn't actually sleeping on the streets, just turfed out daily to wander around. The state that some people get into is very very depressing and I've got nothing but sympathy for anyone who ends up like that.
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:05, Reply)

As far as I know
Lack of personal hygiene is often a sign of mental illness or deep depression. If this the case, it seems there's a lot of mad and sad people around. Any pity for them? No? OK, fuck 'em.
(Fothermucker, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:05, Reply)

As I type this
I can smell the feet of a work colleague approximately 2 metres away
(Leenis is cool., Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:00, Reply)

the smell of damp tramp
I used to work in a camping store during the summer. Everytime it used to rain, tracksuited scumbags would venture into the shop for shelter and to steal whatever they could. The smell of unwashed and mildly damp shiny tracksuit is something unique to behold. Musty homeless person would be a decent description but doesn't even begin to describe how, even years later, by merely recounting the story I can still recall the smell exactly. snff snff not good.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 14:00, Reply)

three words for anyone who went to Bangor Uni...
John Morris Jones

For the uninitiated - no not a person but an entire halls of residence which had a very bizarre and distinctive stench that pervaded the actual building and all its contents including the students, their clothes and all their belongings, thus rendering all its inhabitants instantly identifiable.

Nobody knew what caused it either but it smelt a bit like TCP only with something dead in it. We used to have to go there for Sunday lunch when I was a wee first year in catered halls and the smell would make your eyes water (mind you that was just the food...).

My friend Beth has got a dictionary that still smells of it even though she was only there for a term and she left over 10 years ago.

Not exactly personal, but more of a collective hygiene issue.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 13:51, Reply)

While working for a reputable music chain...
..I became aware of some regular customers, a blind woman and her husband who routinely came in to browse the DVD's. This would be surprisingly normal were it not for the fact that she smelled really, really bad - we had to spray all manner of chemicals in the lift and around the areas they had vacated upon their departure. My staff complained incessantly, but I urged them to empathise with the poor couple.
A few months later, during a busy Saturday afternoon we find a small turd in the DVD section; wishing to investigate this grisly surprise, we repair to the CCTV room where upon closer examination of the footage, we discovered said turd slips gently out of the base of the smelly womans trousers.
I imagine I've joined the ranks of only a few retailers who've had to ban a couple from their shops because the wife took a shit on the floor.
(mcnelson, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 13:48, Reply)

Underground
me and my brothers have always had notoriously smelly feet - i was the worst however, no matter what i tried i couldnt get rid of the smell - freshners, new inner soles blah blah whatever.

my own mother banned me from ever taking my shoes off in the flat anywhere except my own room - including from the bathroom to my bedroom after taking a shower! where i live now i have to keep my shoes on the balcony - the smell can take over an entire room quite happily. its not so much the smell, its the taste apparently.

a new low (or another proud moment, depending on how you look at it) was when i was on the tube and noticed a funny smell, it couldnt be could it? erm... yes, it was. i could smell MY OWN feet nearly 6 feet away from me through socks and shoes and above anything else on a crowded rush hour victoria line tube.

somebody help me....



sorry doll-face, im a grower, not a shower
(Fake Spaniard, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 13:45, Reply)

Tesco - Every Little Smell
Where I live in London is like a baron landscape when it comes to finding a shop to buy the odd bit of food in. Imagine my delight when a Tesco metro should open smack opposite where I live. Huzzah says I..... until I try and use it.

The first time I went in there I noticed a really odd smell and put it down to "new shop smell". Oh how wrong I was! Upon turning the corner I was greeted by the foulest body odour ever to crawl up my nasal passages. The armpit offender was happily stacking shelves without a care in the world whilst all around him were passing out as if someone had dropped a chlorine gas bomb. Seriously, the smell was horrendous. It was that sort of pungent dry odour that you can actually feel wicking the moisture from your mucus membranes. Its so bad that I can not even go in the shop if I see he is in there, as just the sight of him sets off a pavlovian gag reflex.

Just the other week I did a check and the coast was clear so did my shopping and queued up to pay. The queue got so big that the guy rang his buzzer and who should appear from the backroom but the aforementioned fetid bog monster. Even worse was that chance dealt me a fatal blow as I had to go to his till. How I managed to hold my breath long enough for me to pay and get out I do not know.

I have now resigned myself to the fact that I must pretend that shop no longer exists and walk the extra distance to get dried out semi-rotting veg from outside the local middle eastern "delicatessen"
(superfly78, Fri 23 Mar 2007, 13:43, Reply)