Tales of Flatulence - Speechless

During my stint working in the export industry, I remember very clearly how I impacted someone's life very deeply with a rather nasty bout of flatulence that was afflicting me on a specific occasion. I don't know what had brought this on. Maybe some bad carne asada burrito from the roach coach that would service the area where the office was located. In any case, I was undergoing some serious cramps because my position required me to work with clients on a face to face to cargo package (don't sexual innuendo that) basis. Rarely did I get time to myself. But from time to time, I would find myself all alone at my post and this is when I would discretely let loose on some pretty rank gaseous emanations.

A sidenote though . . . isn't it peculiar that whenever you think you're scot-free and that no one is around to smell that warm, squishy fart you just let out, a crowd of people come in all of the sudden and there's no one to pin the blame on but yourself? Funny how this happens huh? Like you let loose a "rat-tat-tat" of pestilence and suddenly a marching bad appears and starts circling your desk. That's karma for you.

Anyway, I'm letting this stream of flatulence out and it's feeling great. Silent but deadlies are making their way out my anus one by one and it's diminishing the cramps I'm feeling. There's no one in sight so I'm feeling pretty confident when out of nowhere, this lady steps into the office, a little flustered because her packages had not been attended to. She's looking for me because I, at the time, was the guy that weighed, measured, processed & shipped everything in the warehouse. I was a 4 man team for the price of one. So I'm sitting there, hoping that she does not get close enough to enter the boundries of the stench, which was pretty gruesome . . . and I'm not an easy person to gross out. She's not noticing the smell as she closes in. I'm at the epicenter while she keeps going on and on about how she has to be at the airport at a certain time and how she still needs to go to her hotel to pack and she needs to get the cargo processed when suddenly, she steps into no-man's land.

She stops mid-word . . . not sentence. She doesn't even finish the word she's on when she gives the air around us a sniff. There's a look of puzzlement in her eyes closely followed by a realization that she just inhaled a small portion of the cloud of poo-gas that has suddenly enveloped her. She cringes, makes a face that's immediately followed by a "ay por Dios (translation - Oh my God . . she was Venezuelan), totally forgets about her problems, and promptly walks away. She needs no explanation. She knows what she just walked into, and I'm laughing my ass off. I could have apologized, but why? Everyone farts. Even that pompous bitch farts on ocassion.

I don't remember what happens after. It's really irrelevant. The look on her face + the psychological damage that my fart imposed on her was enough. I don't have many fond memories of my time working at the Fashion District in Downtown Los Angeles . . . but that exact moment is seared into my mind. I know that she still remembers it too. She could not have forgotten. She probably tells all her idiot friends about the time she was stopped in her tracks by the power of one man's flatulence.