Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. My eyes watering, I struggled to determine which was best, breathing through my nose, or my mouth. Both proved to be torturous, requiring me to stifle my gag reflex, but what else was I to do. B.O. enriched oxygen was all that was available, and I was fighting to survive. Was he there to repair the light fixture, or crush my spirit? I no longer knew. Breathing into the sleeve of my shirt, I questioned his motives.
After one half hour of agony, and unsuccessful attempts to fan the incoming fumes with an empty beige file folder, he finally finished his repair, packed up his things, and left the building. Relieved that it would all soon be over, and with the expectation that fresh air would gradually replace that which he had polluted, I wiped my eyes and went back to work.