I remember when I worked at a grocery store, this was this old lady who would come in, and I would have to hold my breath because she smelled like unwashed crotch rot. It was so bad I had to close my register when she left because the stench would just hang in the air.
And why is it that smelly people are always the ones who like to get right up in your face and breath on you?
Because it makes it much easier to win arguments if you’ll say anything to get as far away from them as possible as soon as possible?
I would stay away from the cosmetics department in Bloomingdale’s if I were you.
Reminds me of my former student, K.
K was a programmer at a major electronics company, which hired me to give him a crash English course before transferring him to Malaysia.
For class on Monday, everything was fine. He’d be wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, and had no noticeable smell.
On Tuesday, he’d have on the same T-shirt and jeans, his hair would look noticeably greasier, and I could catch a whiff of him when I sat down.
By Friday, the T-shirt would be stained with food, his hair would be a grungy, greasy mess, and his B.O. and breath were at biohazard level the minute he entered the room.
Repeat for four weeks.
For the sake of the other passengers, I hope his flight to Malaysia was on a Monday.
So then, what does one say to people who reek? Do you walk into a room and say “What died in here??” Or “What is that odor?”
Why do we pretend that nothing’s wrong? I don’t mean that we need to be cruel to someone with rank odor, but why must we pussyfoot around? Is there something in a head honcho or HR guide that addresses this?
“I’m sorry, but there’s something in your body chemistry that is having an unpleasant effect upon me. Would you please step back and STOP BREATHING!!”
Close - I gotta work on it…
At www.justatip.com you can create anonymous e-mails regarding a person’s hygiene/habits. If your coworkers are unaware that they reek, this might help.
Or, it’s a funny joke to play as well. 
I had a stinky cow-orker at one time. He showered once a week, usually Thursdays, I think. His hair would get greasier as the days went by, and the funk of whiskey-laden sweat and clothes worn from the time of the last shower would grow until shower-day. He didn’t care, and HR didn’t want to deal with it. His boss said “it isn’t every day” to avoid it. Echh! Glad I don’t work there anymore.