My spirit has endured many things—bureaucratic nonsense, chaotic coworkers, the existential dread of corporate potlucks..but nothing, nothing, prepared me for my most recent sensory ambush courtesy of Zach, one of the Engeneers on my job.
Let me set the scene.
I was minding my business when Zach strolled over to ask a “quick question.” He wasn’t too close. He hadn’t cornered me. He was simply… present.
And then his breath made its entrance.
A scent so potent, so aggressive, so spiritually disorienting drifted across the air and hit me like a divine warning. His breath smelled like a violation. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically.
A full-blown OSHA-coded hazard, wrapped in chemical undertones and regret.
It smelled like lamb piss aged in a humid garage and served at room temperature.
My entire nervous system filed for divorce.
I felt my soul leaving my body like,
“Leata… I cannot abide this.”
Here’s what baffles me:
How does a man walk around with a mouth emitting industrial fumes and not feel even a whisper of shame?
How does he inhale, exhale, and not realize his breath could melt the lining off a refrigerator coil?
Someone call the carpet cleaners. Someone call a priest. Someone call the EPA because that was not human. That was an airborne event.
I angled my body like I was dodging laser beams, held my breath like I was training for an underwater mission...None of it mattered. His breath traveled. It pursued.
And the wildest part? He just kept talking.
Unbothered. Unaware. As if his mouth wasn’t producing fumes that could sterilize a lab instrument.
I refuse!!
Listen, life will hand you trials. But That was a bit much! No amount of spiritual grounding prepares you for the scent with a chemical afternote.
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