A hiker/drifter came through, smelling strongly, though not overpoweringly, of sweat and unwashed funk. He was very polite, asked to use a computer and I logged him on.
After 20 minutes, or so, I discovered that while the hiker's odor wasn't terribly offensive, it did tend to lurk in unexpected places and was not limited to his proximity. Depending on the drafts of our air-conditioning system, I might stumble into a patch of it in the juvenile shelves, or even across the building in nonfiction, places where I knew he had not been.
After the hiker had stayed at his computer for nearly an hour, the Sweatiest Woman in all the Land arrived and signed up for a system herself. I had loads of other terminals I could have put her at, but I thought both ironic and karmicly satisfying to stick her directly next to the hiker.
Neither seemed to notice.