My coworker, Bethany, claimed to be “hypersensitive” to smells and banned perfumes or deodorants. We worked in a small, windowless office space at a graphic design agency in Atlanta, Georgia. Bethany had imposed an absolute “fragrance-free zone” on our shared floor, arguing that even the slightest scent triggered severe migraines and respiratory distress.
Her demands were strict and non-negotiable, enforced with frequent, stern reminders and occasional public reprimands. I had reluctantly complied, giving up my favorite subtle body lotion and ensuring my laundry detergent was unscented. The air in our office was notably sterile, almost clinical, completely devoid of any pleasant scent.
One afternoon, during a client review meeting, she abruptly stopped talking and started loudly sniffing the air around me. Her eyes narrowed instantly, and she dramatically pushed her chair away, covering her face with her hand. She accused me of wearing fragrance, demanding to know what “toxic chemicals” I had deliberately exposed her to.
I was genuinely confused and deeply annoyed by the public scene she was creating. I hadn’t used any perfume or scented product that morning; I had been meticulous about following her rules. I calmly insisted that I wasn’t wearing anything at all. The entire team watched the awkward confrontation, clearly used to Bethany’s dramatic flair.
I argued my case, pointing out that my clothes were washed in scent-free detergent, and my hair products were all labeled “unscented.” She persisted, insisting the smell was strong and immediate. Finally, she pointed directly to my hands, which I had just washed after using the communal restroom. It turned out to be just hand soap.
The scent, which I had barely noticed, was a faint, clean citrus smell from the industrial soap dispenser in the bathroom. It was a mandatory product supplied by the building management, a soap meant for hygiene, not vanity. I explained that I had simply washed my hands, and the residual scent was unavoidable and necessary.