I work in a typical CBD office—think fluorescent lights, overpriced kopi, and the smell of stale pantry biscuits. Most of us are just trying to survive until 6:00 PM without getting roasted by the manager. But today, I witnessed something so “down bad” that I think I need to undergo a spiritual cleansing.
We have a colleague, let’s call her Sarah. She’s the undisputed lao chio of the department—always dressed to the nines, smells like a luxury boutique, and carries herself with that effortless “big sister” energy. Then there’s “The Sniffer” (let’s call him Tan). Tan is the quiet guy who usually keeps to himself, does his work, and never causes trouble. Or so I thought.
Sarah went for a long lunch meeting today. About twenty minutes after she left, I walked back into the office early from my own lunch because I forgot my AirPods. The lights in our section were dimmed. I saw Tan standing by Sarah’s empty cubicle. At first, I thought he was leaving a post-it note or checking her documents.
Then, the horror unfolded.
This man didn’t just lean over. He pulled her ergonomic chair out, knelt down like he was about to propose to a deity, and buried his entire face into the seat cushion. I’m not talking about a quick accidental whiff. He took a deep, chest-expanding inhale. He stayed there for a solid five seconds, eyes closed, looking like he was finally breathing pure oxygen after being underwater for a decade.
The worst part? As he pulled away, he whispered—loud enough for the silent office to carry it—“The essence is so strong today.”
I froze. My keys jingled. He snapped his head toward me, and the sheer panic in his eyes was like a deer caught in high beams, except the deer was sniffing office furniture. I didn’t say a word; I just turned around and walked straight back to the lift lobby. I spent the next hour sitting in a Raffles Place toilet stall questioning my career choices.
How do I even face them tomorrow? Do I report this to HR? If I tell HR, I have to explain the phrase “breathing in the essence” to a 50-year-old manager named Mrs. Wong. The cringe might actually kill me before the awkwardness does. Honestly, Singapore office life is a fever dream. If you see a guy in the CBD looking like he’s lost his soul, it’s probably me.
TL;DR: Caught my quiet colleague treat a chair like an inhaler. Office lao chio’s seat is now a biohazard. I want to resign.