Can you create a funny and embarrassing story for me, about a guy who sniffs his office chair when nobody is looking to see if it stinks of his Bumsweat? Make the story detailed.

Once upon a time in a nondescript office cubicle, there was a guy named Greg. Greg was your average office worker—tethered to his desk, drowning in spreadsheets, and living for the next coffee break. But Greg had a secret that could only be rivaled by the best of sitcom embarrassments. His battle with bum sweat. You see, Greg had a particular office chair—a rather plush, ergonomic number that seemed like a small throne on the surface. The catch? It was shockingly absorbent. Every afternoon, as the sun blazed through the window, Greg would feel the merciless grip of humidity tighten around him like a bad horror movie. He had a job that required him to sit for long hours, and with each passing day, he became more consumed by the paranoia that he was marinating in his own icky musk. One typical Tuesday, fueled by two cups of mediocre office coffee and two too many pastries from the break room, Greg decided that enough was enough. He couldn’t live in fear of his own scent any longer. So, when he spotted a quiet moment—his colleagues had stepped out for a “team-building” event that he was secretly glad to skip—he made his move. With all the stealth of a ninja (one who’s just eaten a double cheese pizza), Greg stood up and snuck behind his desk. To an outsider, it might have looked like he was adjusting his monitor or reaching for a rogue pen cap. But Greg had other ideas. He shot a quick glance around the empty office (he could almost hear the ominous music in the background, as if the universe itself was warning him). Satisfied that he was alone, he knelt beside his chair and prepared for the ultimate sniff test. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and leaned forward to inhale the unmistakable scent of faux leather, mixed with whatever funky essence brewed from hours of sitting like a caffeinated sloth. As he pressed his face closer to the seat, the world around him faded to black and all he could focus on was the chair's peculiar bouquet. Just as he was about to register the faint olfactory note that resembled “distant gym bag,” the door swung open. In walked his boss, Linda—a no-nonsense woman with a reputation for being able to smell incompetence from a mile away. Greg’s heart dropped. There he was, mid-scent investigation, with his face dangerously close to his own office chair, looking like a cross between a weirdo art installation and a confused dog. "Greg, what in the world are you doing?" Linda’s voice sliced through the awkwardness, sending Greg's senses into overdrive. He whipped his head up faster than he could think. In a panic, he sputtered, “I—uh—was just checking the...uh...chair's ergonomics!” Linda arched an eyebrow, a smirk crossing her lips as she glanced suspiciously at his chair and then back at him. “The ergonomics, huh? Right. Well, I hope you figured out if it’s comfy enough!” With that, she turned and strolled back out, leaving Greg in a whirlwind of mortification. For weeks after that day, the mere sight of his impeccably plush chair made his cheeks flush. He would often find himself hesitating before sitting down, terrified that just the memory of his silly sniffing escapade might haunt him in the form of an inexplicable office rumor. Meanwhile, Linda would pass by his desk with a knowing grin, occasionally ruffling his hair while asking if he was still “investigating” chair complaints. To this day, Greg swears he’s never sniffed that chair again, opting instead to bask in the dubious glory of showing up to work, wear and tear of bum sweat and all, solidifying his new mantra: “Embrace the sweat, just don’t sniff the seat.”