On average, a courrier entering our office to either pick up or drop off a package is inside a total of 30 seconds. Every now and then one sticks around long enough to ask me a question I've never heard before like "When are you due?" "Have you picked a name?" or to say something clever and witty like "You look HUGE!" or "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be bed-ridden by now?"
Every now and then one of these courriers has just bathed in cologne. They smell so strongly, I think there can be no other explanation than that. There is a small bathtub installed in their vehicle and just before coming into our office, they take a nice little dip. These select few are without fail the ones who are not in and out in 30 seconds. They are always the ones that hang out for a minute to ask if it's a boy or a girl or maybe to ask "So, were you trying?" (that really did happen once.)
When they finally leave, all oxygen has been sucked into the vacuum created by their cologne and it is absolutely impossible to breathe. The scent lingers for several hours, compounded by the fact that none of our windows open and the door cannot be propped open. At least not easily.
I don't usually complain about this anomole, because it's actually easier to deal with than the courriers who come in just having hot boxed a full pack of Marlboro in their vehicle while simultaneously rubbing old cigarette butts into their clothes for an enhanced effect.
Many of you may be thinking this is just my pregnancy-induced enhanced sense of smell. That is possible. I do remember it happening before, but it didn't affect me to the point of nausea (I guess I could have written ad nauseum there...) like it does now.
Details like these make me daydream about maternity leave.