We have all been there. The chair makes a farting sound and we instantly look like we just passed gas. We blame it on the chair and say “Seriously, it was the chair.” In mixed company, usually everyone laughs and a few actually believe you. In a group of guys the guys know it was the chair, because you did not lift a leg, and make that *I just farted face.* One thing is sure while passing gas may be noxious, it is not deadly.
When I used to be a waiter I have, on the rare occasion, passed gas at the table, and walked away quickly, or blamed another person in the area, depending on the customer.In the service industry, with customers near by, most times a measure of flatulence is not endearing. Taking your waiters book and waving it behind your pooper is also a fun way to clear the air, so to speak after a little bombastic buttitus. That is always a good time. There goes that tip. But really, we all fart. And it is not something that we can avoid. I would much rather have some one cut the cheese in my proximity than have them wet talk me. (someone spitting on you while they are talking to you is mega-gross. and possibly deadly! germs disease and viruses, oh my!)
The passing of gas is a constant. Everybody poops, so everybody farts. EVERYBODY!!! I have actually been woken from sleep, and I am a deep sleeper type, by another’s exemplary anal explosions. Thunderbuttitis is more common than you think, but most of the time you don't know it happens because you are asleep.. The Dutch oven treatment is common as well. (When one of the occupants in a two person sleeping arrangement farts under the covers while sharing a bed the act is commonly known as the Dutch oven treatment.) For you young loverboysandgirls your partner REALLY digs this little move. Seriously!
Passing gas can be embarrassing.We all have embarrassing moments. Some of us have more than others. Life is filled with little and large faux pas. It is how you survive these moments that truly defines you. When I got kicked out of music class, in first grade, everyone laughed at me. Just because I rolled up a piece of paper, like a cigar, stuck it in my mouth, and put my feet on the desk, I got booted. “Bruce what are you doing?” asked the teacher. “And why are you not participating?” “I am being a music executive,” was my reply. I could have let the laughter and chiding children scar me for life. I could have become a Columbinewannabe and put some caps in some asses. But I didn’t. I moved on, because nobody is going to die from me not being able to be a music exec and getting made fun of for a few days, or maybe weeks. Jus’ sayin’.
When it comes to embarrassing myself, I seem to be on the more side. For example, about three years ago, I was looking at one of my first estimates with my present company, HMM. I was down in Kalamazoo doing a small T&M job, and the office asked me to stop by and look at this job and give her a quote.
I was talking to a little old lady and we were looking at her shower stall. The tile work was less than spectacular. She needed a new tile surround. Judging from the location and the craftsmanship in the rest of the house she was probably not our customer, meaning she could not afford our quality. The jobs done at this house were not of high caliber. In fact some were quite badly done.
Flippantly, I remarked, “Who did the tile in the shower, a blind man?” To which she replied, “My late husband.” Oops, I thought, that was probably the wrong thing to say. Awkward…. I could have followed that remark with this one, "So, was he blind?" But I didn't. As a redhead, I flush easily and I am sure she knew I was embarrassed, but her scowl did little to let me off the hook. Big oops! Needless to say we did not get that job. It may have been for the best, but still, a trifle embarrassing.
One day, a few months later, I was estimating a bathroom, in the Wyoming area. Not a hot spot for our company, and they wanted the Taj Mahal, on a Trading Spaces budget. I tried to be professional. and wanted to make a good impression AND THEN I dropped this little gem... As I left I shook hands with the Mr. and said to the Mrs., “I am sorry but I did not catch your name.” She replied, “Tabitha.” My response, “Oh like the witch…” and my voice trailed off, as I realized I had phrased that poorly. I hastily left. No sense in trying to correct that verbal gaff. As I walked to the truck, I replayed in my head what I REALLY meant to say. “Oh, like on Bewitched. Tabitha was my favorite character.” That may not have helped but it probably would not have hurt the situation. We did not get that job…
Needless to say, after those two fun and frolicking examples, I attempt to watch the first thing in my head scenario, but some times I do not catch that phrase before it escapes. Bummer dude. It takes concentration, and over 99% of the time I am successful. But when I am not successful, the ridicularity ensues. My exuberance is sometimes my worst enemy, but it will not kill me, or anyone else.
A few weeks ago we were eating dinner at the bar in our kitchen. The three of us were sitting there having pleasant conversation when suddenly the unmistakable sound of flatulence cut thru the conversation like an a-bomb. Not the nuclear variety, mind you or I would not be here relating this little tidbit, but the a-nal variety. You know how that goes; no one wants to admit it. Like I said earlier, I would have raised my leg and made the *face*. Since it was not me and my wife would have excused herself, it must have been Libby.
We were all laughing. I looked at Libby and said, “What do you say? Don’t you think you should excuse yourself?” “I did not fart,” she replied. “It was the chair. Seriously, it was the chair.” Riiight…Seriously, it was the chair.
Just another day in paradise