Our office recently acquired one of those every-couple-of-minutes-perfume-spraying thingies+ in the gents toilet. No-one seems to know why++.
I have long since made peace with the fact that our ablution facilities appear to be a faithful recreation of a level of Duke Nukem. I suppose I should be grateful that the architect who designed the building wasn’t an avid Doom fan, but in all seriousness, making the place smell like the Woolies cosmetics counter goes just a little bit beyond weird. I’m not averse to change, but for the love of Google, the scheißehaus isn’t meant to smell like your girlfriend (or vice-versa, for that matter).
I’m not the only person bothered by this, although it is rather ironic that the most vocal critic of the new arrangement is the office’s primary producer of garlic-powered arse bombs. I had kind of assumed that his olfactory faculties had long since been beaten into submission.
Then again, maybe he just doesn’t like competition in what can only be described as a niche market.
+ I apologise for the use of technical jargon, but I don’t know what else to call it
++ Although the official branch conspiracy theorist sees this as additional evidence that “management is fucking with our heads, man”. He could well be right