Personal HygieneThere comes a point at which your hygiene becomes less your problem and more everyone else's:
My old school nurse never seemed to wash - instead she wrapped herself in crepe bandages from the first aid kits. The smell was beyond pungent. If you got ill at school, it was better to suffer than try and explain symptoms whilst only breathing out.
When she was eventually 'let go',they had to strip the wallpaper in her office to get rid of the lingering odour.
How scuzzy have you got? Or, failing that, how bad have people you know got?
(
chthonic, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 12:40)
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The return of the stinker...I've worked in Education for a few years now as a tech support bod so as you can imagine I've come across a wonderous and varied cross section of life. Somewhere deep in the West Midlands, whereupon I was granted an office in the engineering block of a large FE college, I was made aware of an odorous offender called James. Now, don't get me wrong here, James was a bit hindered in the old grey matter, and despite this was a wizz with electronics. Seriously, this guy used to bring in TV's older then me he'd fixed. But James had a problem.
James probably hadn't taken a bath since, well, ever. You'd smell the guy coming WAY before you'd see him. We lived on the first floor of said block, and due to the wonders of osmosis, could aid ourselves in hiding...not that it ever did us much good mind, as James had radar for finding one electrical technician in particular, and I happened to share an office with said chap. Poor Mr H, I still feel sorry for him now...what made it worse, is James used to turn up on the hottest day of the year without fail.
Worst time I can imagine, one Thursday in the hight of summer. Sun shining, windows open, birds singing, peach of a day...then, from beneath the door, comes the waft of creeping death. Seriously, it was an indescribable smell, a heady mix of stale b.O. ammonia, solder rosin and wet dog with a hint of arse nugget. Me and Mr H looked at each other and dived for the lock, culling the lights and hitting the deck in total silence. The smell is getting stronger, footsteps are coming closer...then comes the call:
MISTER H**P!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
BANG BANG BANG goes our door, bouncing off it's plinth.
We remain in silence.
Again, BANG BANG BANG.
MISTER H**P!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm now choking on this guys fettered attire and he ain't even in the room yet.
This goes on for five minutes. I'm now desperate for a piss. Then, muffled voices down the corridor! Huzzah! Other people!!!!
That doesn't stop James though. He asks where Mr H is, and a kind person points out he's defiantly in his office. At this point, the door is tried and we are forced to open it...and there he stands. It's 23 degrees outside, and James is wearing an overcoat that was so thick you could have crossed the North Pole in it, a clutch of carrier bags full of old PCB and by god, the most offensive breath this side of a barrel full of vaginosis infected swabs. I make my excuses and leg it, the smell still fresh in my nostrils, to the sanctuary of another office far far away.
Apparently he stayed for two hours despite being asked to leave several times...security escorted him away in the end. Took us three days to fumigate the office....
(, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 9:57, Reply)
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