A tasteless tale

We have a supervisor at work who has been known to just get up during a meeting and leave the office. We have learned over time that this means that he has just passed gas and everybody else in the room had better bail within the next five seconds or suffer the consequences. When this guy was in the zone his gas has been known to peel paint and to cause small children (and at least one other supervisor) to cry so the consequences are not pleasant. We call this flatus inturruptus and when the supervisor involved felt that he had launched a particularly ripe one he would hold the door of the office closed so nobody could escape, or as he put it, so we could all get the full effect of what he had produced. He says that the cause of the potency of his gift is all the moose-meat he eats and that he is okay with that. Yes, childish yet manly.

That was part one of the tale and can safely serve as a benchmark for what follows. This is the second part: We were having a meeting when one of the production guys came in and perched himself on the edge of the desk. He sat there for a moment sort of scowling around at everybody then he hopped off and left the office. We all looked at each other then I asked, “What was that all about? What ails that boy?” We were all puzzled, then someone offered, “Maybe he (passed gas).” I tested the air but it all seemed okay, yet there the guy was looking in the office window with a kind of expectant look on his face. I left the office and patted him on the shoulder. “Dude,” I said, “that was just sad.”

Anyway… Humouroceros