I'm writing this at 11:30PM Pacific, still in my office, still trudging through a 500 page legal brief to be filed Friday morning. It's the third night of 4 that will have me here past midnight. Fortunately, when we work late someone always orders dinner. Tonight we ordered from a rib place and I got a pulled pork sandwich with onion strings.
It was delicious. To the tastebuds.
Unfortunately, it didn't mix well with the 5 diet cokes, 2 cups of coffee, tuna sandwich, and cinnamon bun I consumed earlier in the day. Within 15 minutes of the last bite I was farting so bad I wouldn't be surprised if someone down the hall had called the San Francisco Hazardous Materials Team to investigate a pungent, noxious gas lingering throughout the floor. It got so bad at one point earlier, I actually wondered if it was possible to leave my body and go outside for some air for a minute.
During the crescendo and finale of my gastro-intestinal ballet, I was fortunate enough to have to run upstairs for a quick status conference with all the attorneys I was working for. 10 minutes turned into 25 which ultimately turned into 40. By the time we adjourned I had held back enough pressure-packed gas that, were I to let it all out at once, I could probably re-light the Olympic torch in Athens...FROM THE ISLAND OF CRETE!
The meeting mercifully complete, I grabbed the papers I brought with me and consulted my notes as I waited for the elevator to take me back down to my office and the warm embrace of my favorite bathroom stall in all of San Francisco. The doors opened and, head still buried in my notes, mind still foggy from three consecutive 16+ hr days, I boarded the car, turned to face the doors like anyone else and groped for the "4" button. I wasn't finding it--since I wasn't paying attention--so I looked up briefly to find it.
As I looked up, I noticed the reflection of one of the cleaning crew in the stainless steel doors. She had been standing directly behind me the whole time. I don't know about your office building, but mine seems to only employ middle-aged, Chinese or Spanish speaking women no taller than 5'1" to work it's cleaning crew.
Well, I wasn't expecting to see anyone in the car this time of night so her reflection startled me. It startled me so much, in fact, that as I groped for the "4" button and caught the glimpse of her in the stainless steel, I kind of gasped and let all the gas I had been sitting on for the last 40 minutes come rocketing out in one glorious, senses-assaulting jet of ass-air. It was a fart the Jet Propulsion Labratory would have been proud of. And it was directed squarely in the face of the 4'8" Chinese cleaning lady standing behind me. Ouch.
Now, I'm not sure how you say "I don't get paid enough for this shit" in Cantonese or Mandarin, but I'm pretty sure it's not "eeeeeeeeecchhhhhhh."
Posted by nils at 8:40 PM