Does my gas mask offend you?

There are many reasons to like telecommuting. You can work in your bathrobe all day if you want to. When you have that inevitable downtime between work-related activities, you can get some laundry done. Your cat is there. Other than occasionally feeling a bit cut-off from what's happening at the office (which can be a good thing), there's very little to say against the enterprise. And today, I've discovered another reason to pencil in for telecommuting.

When you telecommute, you can only smell the food you prepare. In most cases, this means it will be food you like. As I sit here smelling what is probably some sort of Asian meal, but it smells like the Buffalo sauce on Buffalo wings, which I despise, I long to not be sitting here. I can't even think about anything else but that wretched smell wafting over my cube wall from...I'm not even sure which co-worker. I don't want to go look, because that will inevitably bring me closer to the noxious smell.


I'm sure that the person eating the foul concoction finds the smell intoxicating. It's rare that you like the way something tastes yet hate the way it smells. So, he probably likes it. And I'm sure I've knocked out some people over the years with the smell of my food (yeah, right - like I'd eat anything that anyone else could hate). But good God, it's like I'm working in a toxic waste factory at the moment. Or, you know, some kind of wing place.

This isn't the first time that such a situation has existed here in Cube Land. One co-worker sometimes wears a particularly unpleasant cologne. When he does, the smell floats over the cube wall and assaults me like mustard gas. I've actually put my heater/fan on my desk, facing the direction of the mushroom gas cloud to force it back over the wall. It seemed to work. But that just ain't no way to start the day.

I never plan to complain, though (except on my blog and to my friends and to my mom and maybe in a book some day), because despite the impediment to my concentration that this insufferable situtation represents, I don't want to be "that woman." You know the one - the one who complains and then suddenly no one can wear perfume or eat at their desk anymore. The one who ruins everything for everyone. No, if I become that person, then I can't really complain anymore about other people, and then what would I blog about?

No, better for me to just sit here in silence and bear my burden. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. If I start to feel woozy, I'll just go lie down in my car. It'll be fine. Do I look pale to you?