The layout of my building is Office/Workout Room/Bathroom, in that order. You'd think that a good 50 feet of remove from the bathroom would *ahem* cushion a person from the fallout of the (presumably) hideous depth-charges which are deployed in that locale. Thanks to over-achievers, that would be a big negatory, good buddy.
My first two years at the company, there was one employee who at least once per week unleashed a fury which inspired blasphemous thoughts. I always knew I was in trouble when he snatched the Dallas Observer(free local weekly paper) from the coffee table by the entry and headed for the back of the building. He invariably unleashed a roiling stench which made it through two substantial doors and one wall. Beastly. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd blame Burger King, because the words "flame" and "broiled" certainly came to mind on such occasions. Fortunately, the personnel in his department removed to another office a couple years ago, but I still recoil in horror at the memory.
I had to call in a technician for repair to a major system on property this week. The answering service spirited me to a voice mail system, and I was thinking it would be a day or two before I heard back from them. Oh well.
15 minutes later, the tech pulled up to my office. I was surprised and relieved the repairs wouldn't be back-shelved for days. Turns out, he was stuck in traffic on Stemmons, and just thought he'd pop on over. Before he got cracking on the repairs, though, he headed for the back of the building, and proceeded to set afoot an implacable stench. I quickly realized that the excuse of coming to my property had been a godsend for this guy, as he obviously must have been near-to-expiring with that dead animal trapped inside him as he languished in the traffic jam.
NOT to be critical, and you know mine smells like roses, but... I suppose gas and poop are like bratty children: everyone else's is way more repugnant than one's own.