There was a salesman/account rep that everyone in my mom's building disliked. He was apparently somewhere between "asshole frat boy" and "scummy used car salesman," but he knew just where the line was and apparently enjoyed putting his toes on it, but never over.
They were stuck with him, basically.
One day, mom was sitting in the samples room, looking through some data with a couple of other people working at nearby stations, and this guy comes in, sees my mom, and decides he's going to have some fun.
"Hey, nice hat!" he says. "Having a bad hair day? Dye job go bad?"
My mother sets down her work, and reaches up, taking off her hat. "No. Chemotherapy. "
Now confronted with her bald head, he freezes, his life flashing before his eyes.
"For stage 4 breast cancer," my mother says, never changing expression.
He is now actively praying for death, as every other person in the room has stopped their work, and are staring at him.
"The prognosis is six to eight months," mom says. She doesn't say 'until I die,' but it hangs there. She picks up her work. "So I really should get back to this."
Apparently he was mass reported to his employer before he got out of the building by multiple lab heads. They never saw him again.