Story 8:
I held the door for this guy carrying what looked like heavy boxes into an office. He says thanks, then one of the boxes slips and hits the ground. Boom—candles everywhere. Dozens of them. He groans and asks if I can help gather them up.
I do, but a few smash open. Suddenly I’m coated in wax shards and my jacket smells like something called “Pumpkin Apple Spice Disaster.” Thought it’d fade in a day. Nope. Week later, coworkers are asking if I switched to “holiday perfume.”
I hate pumpkin spice.
