Ugh, not again. I walk into the break room and it hits me like a punch to t the face – the unmistakable stench of reheated fish wafting from the microw microwave. I know exactly who’s responsible for this daily assault on my se senses: Larry, our resident fish-frying fiend.
I storm over to the counter where Larry is calmly stirring his lunch, a smu smug look on his face. “Seriously, Larry? Fish again?
Are you trying to cle clear out the entire floor?” I demand, my voice low and even, but with a hi hint of menace. Larry looks up at me, a fake innocence in his eyes. “What’s the problem, Ha Hal?
It’s just a little fish. You’re being dramatic.” Just a little fish? Is he kidding me?
That smell is a biohazard. I take a s step closer to him, my voice rising. “A little fish?
A little fish is what you have for lunch when you’re 5 years old! This is an adult workplace, Lar Larry. We don’t reheat last night’s seafood in the microwave like we’re som some kind of college freshmen.” Larry shrugs, still stirring his abomination.
“Hey, it’s not hurting anyone. If you can’t handle a little smell…” A little smell? I’ll show him what a little smell is.
I take another step c closer, my face inches from Larry’s. “You know what? I’m going to make sure everyone in this office knows that it’s you who’s responsible for this daily torture.
I’m going to put up posters, send out company-wide emai emails…I’ll make sure the entire building hates you.” Larry starts to smirk, but I can see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Too la late, buddy. I’ve already got my phone out and I’m dialing our HR departmen department.
This is war.