Well, it’s a crisp winter day here in bear country, and on days like this my mind tends to wander. Today was no exception, and one thought that came across my mind was from a time long ago, when I worked for the “largest mini-computer company in the world”.
Now I know I seem to have a penchant for digestive stories that end badly, but what can I say – I’m a guy and guys find this stuff funny, and did I mention they didn’t happen to me. And these two stories happened about a month apart, which made them even funnier, since some folks never seem to learn from others misfortunes.
I worked in a stockroom that was adjacent to the shipping department, and we all took great enjoyment whenever something bad happened to one of our co-workers – whether by our hand or by someone else’s. Not bad like death or injury, but bad like walking into a door, unknowingly sitting in a soaked chair – or shitting your pants. Unfortunately I wasn’t there when it happened – I heard the story from my buddy Mo – about how Billy was taking great delight in chasing him around the shipping dock with the rudest gas that could be passed – following Mo all the way to his desk laughing like a school girl – until the gas turned lumpy. By the time I got there, Billy was just coming back from the men’s room – with his long johns in his hands, having been washed and wrung out. I got a good chuckle out of that, and the nickname Mo hung on him “the bum that goes squirt” (a reference to Freshen-Up gum).
So you’d think Mo would have learned from this – if you did you’d be wrong. About a month later I’m sitting with Mo at his desk, going over some important inventory issues that we’ve got to report on right away. And wouldn’t you know it – the night before Mo had eaten something that must have died weeks earlier. And he’s passing gas so bad that it would (as George Carlin would say) “knock a buzzard off a shit wagon”. And I’m trapped – leave and I piss off the boss – stay and I suffer. And Mo, with the biggest of grins on his face, keeps lifting his leg with an “I’ve got something for ya” statement every couple of minutes.
Well that meeting couldn’t end quick enough for me, and as I was leaving, Mo gives me the “just one more thing” line, lifts his leg and suddenly the big grin turns to a look of drastic confusion, followed by the realization of what’s occurred. This look alone has me in stitches, but as the guy on TV says “but wait – there’s more”. The nearest men’s room to us is a good 100 feet away – across a computer lab full of equipment and students. Billy was lucky – his happened before labs began – Mo wasn’t so lucky.
I’d never laughed so hard in my life as I did watching Mo “waddle” across the lab, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible and failing miserably. I had instructors coming over and asking what was wrong. When I told them they too began laughing hysterically and shared the story with their students. And it was a glorious day for all – except Mo, who had to toss his “tighty whities” and ride commando in his suit pants the rest of the day.