Initially, I was going to blog about Ireland’s referendum approving gay marriage. But then I Googled the word “proud”, and stumbled across a "notorious essay" written in 1781 by one of America’s founding fathers, Benjamin Franklin. The article was simply entitled “Fart Proudly”. Naturally, I immediately switched gears and decided to blog about flatulence. I can blog about human rights another time.
At the office, it’s universally accepted that toilet humour is inappropriate. It’s also fair to say that bad breath, bad body odour and bad behaviour is also inappropriate, but for various reasons it’s tolerated. Yet, farting gets a bum rap (quite literally). To quote Mr. Franklin:
It is universally well known, that in digesting our common food, there is created or produced in the bowels of human creatures, a great quantity of wind.
Farting is as natural as sneezing, coughing or even burping (and coincidentally, oftentimes, these too can result in farting). It’s part of the human condition. Yet bad behaviour is more widely accepted than something as natural as passing wind?
What if a colleague took both bad behaviour and flatulence to a whole new level? What would you do if a colleague's ongoing questionable behaviour not only affected her ability to hold in a fart, but potentially her hold onto her job? Would you cover for her? Would you fan the fetter? Or would you simply pooh-pooh the perversity?
Remarkably, a very long time ago, I asked myself these very questions.
* * *
BOOK EXCERPT
“Listen,” she muttered, breaking the awkward silence that hung between us. “I need to go to the store and buy a new pair of underwear and tights.” I nearly burst out laughing, but managed to restrain myself. I turned around in my chair to face Bonnie, who wore a sheepish expression.
“Excuse me?” I snickered, picking up my coffee and carefully taking a sip of the hot beverage. I’d given up trying to make a decent pot of coffee at work, but the Buzz Café made an excellent Americano. As I sipped my coffee, Bonnie steadied herself on her chair. Clearly, she hadn’t slept much the night before, if at all. Her hair was disheveled and she had matching bags of luggage under her eyes.
“What’s going on?” I snapped at her. She sat rubbing her eyes before answering, causing them to water and making them redder than they already were.
“Okay. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t tell a soul,” she disclosed in a hushed tone. I detected a tinge of embarrassment.
“Sure,” I lied.
“Well, I partied all night with my boyfriend.” Bonnie rubbed her nose and cleared her throat of phlegm before continuing. “In fact, I haven’t even been home yet!” she boasted, stifling a giggle. Obviously, she was very proud of the fact that she’d pulled yet another all-nighter, this time on a Monday night. I wasn’t about to award her a trophy for this, so instead I sat quietly waiting for her to finish her story. There once was a time when I would have laughed along with her, but not today.
“Anyway,” she finally continued. “My boyfriend drove me to work and for some stupid reason I thought I’d take the stairs.” Our office was on the seventh floor. I couldn’t do the stairs at the best of times and I’m not sure what possessed Bonnie to tackle the stairs, today of all days. I nodded, giving her my undivided attention.
“This is so embarrassing!” she said in a shrill yet quiet voice, making her sound like an alien. Trying hard not to become even more annoyed than I already was, I took another sip of my coffee.
“What is?” I questioned, urging Bonnie to hurry up and finish her story. It was nearly 10:00 am and already I had a busy day ahead of me. Bonnie pulled her chair closer to me, leaning in so I could hear her.
“As I was walking up the stairs I had to fart only,” she paused, crinkling her nose in self-disgust. “It, ah, wasn’t a fart.” I nearly fell over in my chair as my imagination took over.
“Seriously?” I scoffed, not even attempting to hide my revulsion. Suddenly, I found it difficult to look Bonnie in the eyes. Glancing down, I noticed she was wearing her trademark micro-mini skirt, but without her signature shiny black tights. This threw me because Bonnie had psoriasis on her legs and never wore a skirt without tights. For a brief moment, I thought I could smell shit.
END OF BOOK EXCERPT
* * *
Looking back, I probably wasn’t the most supportive “frolleague”. I factor in my age (I was very young) and the fact that I wasn’t equipped to deal with this rather awkward and somewhat sensitive situation. But, regardless of my reaction, Bonnie still (to this day) has her job, and not less than a month later, I was unceremoniously fired (but not for farting). So, to borrow a quote from the late great John Cage, “Farting; don’t think, just fart”.
