A colleague stank up the lab at my previous company with a disposable pipette tip from ethanedithiol. He dropped the tip into a trash bin outside his hood; people soon complained so he dumped the bin content into a big garbage container located in our parking lot. It was a searing-hot Arizona summer day with no wind – and the stink got taken in by the A/C system of our neighbour, a robotic engineering company.
The robotic company owned the whole building and needed more space to expand their business. They wanted us out but we had a long-term lease signed with them. For years the robotic guys have been coming up with arguments about how we violated the lease terms. They reported us to EPA repeatedly, for problems like “burying chemical waste in the desert” (they could not provide information where the stuff was burried or the witness that actually saw the incident). We had EPA on us all the time – and whenever the inspectors gave us a surprise visit it was always the robotic company that ended-up fined instead (machine oil spilled on the ground, etc) while we managed a passing grade with each inspection…
This time the robotic guys reported us to the Poison Control Center. Without telling anyone at our company, they complained that we sickened their employees (they instructed their employees to take the day off – and recommended them to report to a hospital for a check-up: they told them otherwise they wouldn’t be eligible for a work-disability compensation in case they would become later ill). The poison control in turn called the military and advised them about a “poison gas release” contaminating the place – and soon the experts from the nearby Air Force base arrived in full gear. Men in bunny suits appeared on the scene, walking slowly about our parking lot and taking samples of everything with the utmost care.
There was a fire station located right next door too and these firemen were not that busy in the spread-out Oro Valley suburbs – they were usually putting out the brush fires on the Catalina foothills and when the desert was not burning they were there at their station hanging about. Their chief was organising drills and sports-like competitions to keep up the morale – occasionaly they were rolling fire hoses or running in their gear up and down our parking lot. So when the space-suit men showed up we were not concerned; and we were rather curious, watching them – we thought the firestation dudes were finally doing something interesting! Then a $50,000 bill came – and with it a lively debate commenced, about who is paying the astronauts.