What’s for Breakfast?

On the ground floor of Equinox, there is a “café”. When I get to the gym around 5:45 a.m., it’s not open yet except for the refrigerator. The food deal doesn’t get going right away.
However, on the weekends, both the gym and the café open at 8:00. I usually arrive around 8:15. And by the time I do, the smells of the food are already wafting through the gym. Or perhaps I should say odors, because I am not fond of what I smell.
Or wait. Maybe that’s not even accurate. What I mean is that I don’t mind the smells themselves but the fact that they are out of place. I do not like to smell this when I am at the gym. I especially don’t like smelling it when I am next to a, uh, well … how do I put this gently … well, a fat guy on the treadmill. When I smell sausage cooking in the exercise environment, I instantly associate that odor with the guy and wonder if perhaps it isn’t sausage that I’m smelling but the guy’s “pork” melting from his body. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s automatic!
What was even worse, or perhaps as distressing, was a recent occasion when one of my other senses was accosted, in the ladies locker room, by something that instantly made me think of this and this. I will say nothing more. I don’t think I have to, do I?
Good. So I won’t.
That is all.
P.S. When searching for the perfect breakfast sausage image online (you didn’t think I actually sit around taking photos of sausage, did you?), using “breakfast sausage” as a search string (isn’t that ingenious?) I came across this. (Yes, I suppose you could say I’ve supplied a “sausage link”.)