Eating at your desk? Your cubemates may be seething

It would happen like clockwork. At 8:10 every morning, a former coworker would arrive and unpeel a sandwich he had picked up at a local food truck.

A fried egg sandwich.

I dreaded it. After the rustle of paper and aluminum foil stopped, the stink of overcooked eggs and stale cooking grease would waft across the room, seemingly targeted at my desk. It made me almost retch. “Why couldn’t he eat breakfast at home?” I muttered to myself as I suffered in silence.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I walked across to his desk and asked him to stop bringing in his stinky breakfasts. “I have an aversion to eggs,” I mumbled. He then took his odorous eating to the conference room.

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