Back when quite a few reporters and editors still sucked on cigarettes in newsrooms, I worked with a smoker who typed from a slouched position.
He looked like he was doing the luge.
At least a couple of times a week, a chunk of smoldering ash would fall onto his shirt without him noticing. A few minutes later, he would realize a small hole was being created in his garment by the embers. Maybe he felt the heat. Anyway, he would erupt in a volcano of profanity as he flailed away at the cigarette ash.
At first, it was sort of funny. And I have no business complaining about off-color language. But after witnessing these performances1,000 times, it started to get old.