Come and smell the coffee?

Hi there

Way back when I was a naive young typist in the Department of Education typing pool, I used to travel to and from work by bus.  Every now and then I would be sitting next to someone who so obviously didn't wash.  They smelled.  The odour was horrendous,  revolting to me.  Hadn't these people heard of deodorant?

After a couple of years of sitting beside some obviously smelly (but mainly well-dressed) vagrants, one of them, a woman of about fifty years sniffed the air - and I thought, oh my goodness, at last, one of these unclean persons can finally smell herself. The woman said to me (with a smile, no less) :

"Isn't the aroma of ground coffee beans absolutely delightful?"

What?  Whaaat??  What the - ?!

My eyes goggled as, with a majestic  flourish, the woman pointed to a bulging paper bag in her shopping basket.

Coffee beans!  That was the dirty-washing smell that had been assaulting my nostrils for upwards of a half-dozen years?  Coffee beans, grinded, roasted, whatever, had been sneaked into the country.  Tins of Nescafe Instant were on the outer.

 I still can't stand the smell of coffee, still want to gag when the aroma hits me.  Often when I collect money for charity I stand outside one of Wellington's most iconic coffee shops, a place that I'm pretty sure grinds its own beans, or roasts them, or some such thing.  I am nauseated by the smell coming through the doors.  When well-meaning patrons offer to buy me a cup of coffee, I smile radiantly, tell them what a lovely thought, but decline.

Oh dear, how on earth do I manage to exist in this modern world?