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We’ve all been there, going about our day, minding our own business, when we unknowingly step into someone’s scent cloud, gagged to the point of temporary delirium. While many people get over it with little more than a bad taste in their mouths, an estimated 15 per cent of the population reacts to scented products with symptom ranging from rashes, headaches, and asthma attacks, to nausea and disrupted mental cognition.
I am one of those sensitive individuals, but it was never something that was really exacerbated since The Ottawa Hospital, where I work, does a good job of inflicting the fear of seven hells into its employees about fragrance. While most people enjoy being complemented on smelling nice, saying that to a health care worker is like handing them the Black Dot. Your compliment will often be met with hurried shushes and fearful pleas to not mention their smell again for fear of a write-up and ban of their favourite lotion from hospital grounds.
That’s why when I started my studies at the University of Ottawa I was surprised to learn that the university does not have a scent policy. On most occasions it was easy to get away from the aromatic culprit. Most of the classrooms were large ventilated halls where finding a different seat was not a problem. As a seasoned fragrance avoider, I am accustomed to switching lineups at the grocery store or giving up the last seat on the bus to breathe easy, so playing auditorium plinko was a piece of cake.
But this year, walking in to the small stuffy classroom in an older part of the university resembled walking through the perfume section at The Bay. And I had nowhere to plink to. As more students took their seats, the air quality went from eye-watering to breathing in shards of glass. By the time I packed up and left the classroom it was too late. Hello, headache.
The following day was worse. Hello, wheezy lungs; glad you could help headache ruin another 10-hour day. I looked to see if I could switch sections but they were either full, or conflicting with my schedule. My choices were to suffer through the stink, or drop the class. Emailing the professor didn’t help either. The class required participation, which meant I had to show up or face failing.
That was the day we were told about a student who had a severe peanut allergy in the class. I found it a little absurd that it’s inexcusable to bring a box of Pirate Cookies to class, but assaulting others with your daily Axe regime is deemed perfectly acceptable. Unfortunately, without a scent policy in place, there seems to be nothing the university can legally do to prevent staff members and students from wearing their eau de million seductive roses on campus. Luckily, my faculty was able to strike a deal with the course coordinator and allow me to transfer into another section — carried out entirely online, nonetheless — but it was never a certain thing that they would accommodate me. Despite my victory, the issue still remains. On campus, and off.
The air quality has become so tarnished with scented products that many businesses have implemented policies regulating the reduction, and in some cases outright ban of all scented products. But not all businesses have followed suit. Since Canada doesn’t actually have laws about scent-free environments, they are entirely in their right to decline. The issue currently falls under the jurisdiction of the Canadian Centre for Occupational Health and Safety (CCOHS) and the Ontario Human Right Commission, but for the time being the education and policy implementation they offer is from a voluntary perspective only.
And even if a scent policy is put in place, enforcing it has its own set of issues. Everything from lip gloss to garbage bags to kitchen sponges are infused with scents these days, and the perfume bottles and fabric softeners people think of when approaching the subject of fragrances is just a drop in a vast sea of smells.
Agnes Cadieux is an Ottawa writer and student in biological science at the University of Ottawa.
查看原文...
I am one of those sensitive individuals, but it was never something that was really exacerbated since The Ottawa Hospital, where I work, does a good job of inflicting the fear of seven hells into its employees about fragrance. While most people enjoy being complemented on smelling nice, saying that to a health care worker is like handing them the Black Dot. Your compliment will often be met with hurried shushes and fearful pleas to not mention their smell again for fear of a write-up and ban of their favourite lotion from hospital grounds.
That’s why when I started my studies at the University of Ottawa I was surprised to learn that the university does not have a scent policy. On most occasions it was easy to get away from the aromatic culprit. Most of the classrooms were large ventilated halls where finding a different seat was not a problem. As a seasoned fragrance avoider, I am accustomed to switching lineups at the grocery store or giving up the last seat on the bus to breathe easy, so playing auditorium plinko was a piece of cake.
But this year, walking in to the small stuffy classroom in an older part of the university resembled walking through the perfume section at The Bay. And I had nowhere to plink to. As more students took their seats, the air quality went from eye-watering to breathing in shards of glass. By the time I packed up and left the classroom it was too late. Hello, headache.
The following day was worse. Hello, wheezy lungs; glad you could help headache ruin another 10-hour day. I looked to see if I could switch sections but they were either full, or conflicting with my schedule. My choices were to suffer through the stink, or drop the class. Emailing the professor didn’t help either. The class required participation, which meant I had to show up or face failing.
That was the day we were told about a student who had a severe peanut allergy in the class. I found it a little absurd that it’s inexcusable to bring a box of Pirate Cookies to class, but assaulting others with your daily Axe regime is deemed perfectly acceptable. Unfortunately, without a scent policy in place, there seems to be nothing the university can legally do to prevent staff members and students from wearing their eau de million seductive roses on campus. Luckily, my faculty was able to strike a deal with the course coordinator and allow me to transfer into another section — carried out entirely online, nonetheless — but it was never a certain thing that they would accommodate me. Despite my victory, the issue still remains. On campus, and off.
The air quality has become so tarnished with scented products that many businesses have implemented policies regulating the reduction, and in some cases outright ban of all scented products. But not all businesses have followed suit. Since Canada doesn’t actually have laws about scent-free environments, they are entirely in their right to decline. The issue currently falls under the jurisdiction of the Canadian Centre for Occupational Health and Safety (CCOHS) and the Ontario Human Right Commission, but for the time being the education and policy implementation they offer is from a voluntary perspective only.
And even if a scent policy is put in place, enforcing it has its own set of issues. Everything from lip gloss to garbage bags to kitchen sponges are infused with scents these days, and the perfume bottles and fabric softeners people think of when approaching the subject of fragrances is just a drop in a vast sea of smells.
Agnes Cadieux is an Ottawa writer and student in biological science at the University of Ottawa.
查看原文...
