I Am Not Above This

I work on the 7th floor of an office building, and we enjoy something that none of the other floors have: a cute little common area with 6 round tables and a hideous red couch in the corner. This tiny slice of corporate heaven came into existence when the powers above realized that there were too few conference rooms for a company that thrives on an excess of unnecessary meetings. Hence, a creative and popular workaround was birthed.

And that was where I found myself 20 minutes ago having a one-on-one meeting with one of the engineering managers. The only other person in that common area was a tired looking engineer, who sat at a table across from me, clearly waiting for someone to join him. There wasn’t anything spectacular about the sight; my building is full of middle-aged, disheveled looking Chinese men who wear glasses and ugly shoes. I didn’t pay him much attention, as I was too busy trying to look interested in what my own meeting companion was saying.

However, I couldn’t help but get excited when the other dude suddenly ripped out a terrifically loud fart. The thing was the exact opposite of subtle (my S.A.T. words are escaping now, and I’m too lazy to look up thesaurus.com), and I was blown away (pun intended) by how unembarrassed he looking. He just sat there, pretending as if nothing had happened, ignoring that fact that a huge gush of air had just been popped out of his anus in the common area of a Fortune 500 company.

I wish I could say that I am above being affected by random farts in public. Or private, for that matter. But you know what, I’m not. I contend that flatulence remains and will always remain a pure, uncorrupted form of entertainment. And since I live in the country of belches and Bronx cheers, I have every right to enjoy them.

Also, if you’re as enthused about this subject as I am, you’re welcome to drop by my place any time and I’ll give you plenty of entertainment.