Fermented Revenge

I work in a relatively large place. Three times a year we converge for all-staff meetings to discuss relevant issues and topics for our organization. Yesterday during one such meeting the awful and mysterious public fart presented itself in all its repugnant wonder. Whilst I was quietly gagging in the back row of the packed auditorium it occurred to me… this has happened, at least once to each one of us… and as gross at it is… it really is hilarious.

It comes in many forms, the public fart. The one that is brewing when you are in a job interview or in a meetings with clients and finally after seemingly forever it slowly oozes out and everyone know it’s there but nobody acknowledges it, the loud one which you feel you have no choice but to blame on your children, the silent deadly one that sneaks out in the cracker aisle which you hurriedly run away from with your shopping cart in tow hoping that it doesn’t follow you all the way to canned soup and pasta or the dreaded bathroom/toilet one where you are doing your business in a private stall and it echoes for all to hear; reverberating across the metal walls, reaching decibels beyond the actual capacity which any mere mortal fart ever should. I think the public restroom fart truly is the worst kind for people even though it really should be the most socially acceptable of all the types. I mean in that instance we just hide out in the stall until the last of the other bathroom dwellers are gone… we sit and listen intently for the hand washing water to stop running and the auto dryer to start so we can then stand up and flush and leave the stall without everyone seeing who the perpetrator of the atomic woofer really was.

Granted, there are people (like Jason, my betrothed) who wholeheartedly embrace bean bombing and enjoy terrorizing unsuspecting members of the public. I can recall recently a trip to the local hardware store where Jason and I went our separate ways, me looking for birdseed and him off to find deck screws. I eventually found him laughing to himself and when I asked him what was so funny, he regaled me with a crop dusting tale (crop dusting: where you walk and fart, dusting an entire area with your scented scream) where he witnessed each person's reaction and facial contortions as the waft hit them. I told him it sounded an awful lot like fart pinball to me, especially with the visuals of each person's head whipping around trying to find some scent-less air pocket in which to embrace. In saying this, perhaps loving your own trouser coughs is primarily a man thing. I can't really see a man hiding in a bathroom stall after a particularly juicy flaming corn-hole expression. Come to think of it, it was only my brother and his friends rooting around in the bathroom cupboards looking for aerosol cans of hairspray in an attempt to be the ultimate winner in their blue angel contests.

One of my dear friends, I will call her Lori, up until a few days ago was in complete ‘methane denial’. She is quite proud of the fact that in her decade of marriage she has allowed less than ten (10) gaseous excretions to escape the confines of her steel trap sphincter in the presence of her husband. On New Year ’s Eve we attended a house party. Lori had a bit to drink and in the process, temporarily surrendered some of her typical meticulously in control body functions. At the end of the evening Lori bent over in an attempt to put her boots on. She was unsuccessful with this endeavour and instead fell head first, ass up into a blue recycle bin and in the process, unknowingly allowed an enormous butt thundering ripper to escape her cheeks. The next day, when I (gleefully) reminded Lori of this incident, she started weeping from embarrassment. I told her that she should be proud of herself. Lori did not simply break wind she successfully broke through a barrier which most of us tend to suffer from; fartophobia – the fear of farting. Everyone farts. Everyone laughs when someone else farts. Finger pulls all around in your honour Jason and Lori… thank you both for your selflessness!

Perhaps 2010 is the year where we can all stand proudly in the supermarket where we have just cut the proverbial cheese, where we stride proudly out of the bathroom stall when a particularly obnoxious air biscuit has been expelled… where you let one drop in the auditorium during an all staff meeting and instead of hiding your head in shame, you stand proudly and look at the people in the back row covering their noses and exclaim, ‘Yep that was me sucka’… drink it in!’