Shit Almost Happens

The US Social Security Administration reprimanded an employee last month for allegedly creating a “hostile work environment” by regularly passing gas at the office, according to an official letter sanctioning the worker.

officewarningThe reprimand letter, which came from the agency’s Office of Disability Operations, cited 60 documented instances of the worker passing gas in his office over about 12 weeks   The episodes occurred as much as nine times a day, according to a log the employee’ssupervisors created after his alleged offenses continued for more than three months.

According to the reprimand letter, the man told a supervisor in July that he would start turning on a fan in his work space, but the manager said such action would only “cause the smell to spread and worsen the air quality in the module.”   —stuff.co.nz

Nine farts a day?  Piker.  I’m good for 9 farts before I even get to work, and that’s after my morning dump.  Depending on how old and strong the coffee is, I might emit another dozen smoking eruptions before noon, and I’m not talking little white puffs of vapor, either.  Thai-steamed tofu for lunch?  Claire de lune, as the French say (trans: “Clear the saloon.”  Also, “I surrender.”)

I imagine the thinking of the Social Security Administrators, which after all is a governmental level of management, is that those farts represent their employee’s intellectual property, doubtlessly his most productive output, and as such, belongs to them.  Like management anywhere, their attitude is, “We Own Your Ass,” and therefore anything that exits it is their property as well.

Personally, I don’t enjoy farts, not mine, not yours, certainly not my dog’s.  And in a long career that includes sharing cramped spaces with many co-workers, I’ve traded my share of emissions.  I’m here to tell you there are worse olfactory experiences.  Cheap perfume.  Mentholated  chewing tobacco.  Sour apple bubble gum.  Right Guard in a sweating unwashed armpit soaking through a 2-day old football shirt.  Hair spray/hair tonic/hair gel.   Stale cigarette smoke breath.  Old people.  Horny women.

And did you ever notice how kids smell like ass?

Please spend the day carefully composing and posting your favorite fart-in-the-workplace stories and other tales of olfactory horror.  The best one wins a free lunch of refried beans with onions, a hardboiled egg, and a dark beer.  For you and a friend, presumably a close one.

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This entry was posted in Gen. Snark, Maj. Snafu, Corp. Punishment. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Shit Almost Happens

  1. The Fartster says:

    This will help add some sound effect to the beautiful, romantic, posting.
    http://www.fart-sounds.net/fart_sound_board.htm

  2. The Fartster says:

    Eeesh, Me any my typos!

    This will help add some sound effects to this beautiful, romantic, posting.

  3. Joe Balls says:

    Nine farts a day is about 1 per hour at the office. B.F. D. What a whiner.

  4. Barbara Ganousch says:

    I was in an office with a middle-aged woman who never missed an opportunity to share with her colleagues that she suffered from “Irritable Bowel Syndrome.” One day I told her the rest of us suffered from her IBS even more than she did, which is why I sprayed aerosols around my desk every 20 minutes. She never spoke to me again (but she kept right on farting)..

  5. Lu Senz says:

    Out at the Wrigley press box we’d have competitions to see which one of us could fart first after scarfing a Vienna Dog sauerkraut pickle and horse radish sandwich. The guy from the Daily News ( long gone, as is the paper) — half-German half-Pole and about 325 pounds — discovered that when he just about swallowed the damn thing whole, barely chewing, he could let loose within r minutes. So we created a ground rule (so to speak) that prohibited finishing a sandwich in less than 7 minutes. He’d usually win anyway, and we’d have to buy him a beer.

  6. Moose and Squirrel says:

    For about 18 months, four of us shared a converted store-front office, a temporary arrangement while our new offices were being prepared. It was pretty tight quarters and not much privacy.

    I fart a lot, always did. When I felt one rumbling, I’d get up from behind my desk and walk — sometimes run — out the front door to let fly. My colleagues were both amused by and grateful for my thoughtful gesture, although one asked me, “Why the hell can’t you take a cigaret break like a normal person?”

  7. mkhall says:

    “Composing and posting” could be shortened to “composting,” which would be remarkably apropos.

    • Squathole says:

      Indeed. “Com-posting” or “Compost-ing” perfectly describes what I’ve been doing on this blog all this time. Excellent.

  8. Out in Colorado, I worked as a camp counselor for boys ages 11-13. For their size and weight, they were remarkably productive in that skill. We called the result “barking spiders.”

    In New Mexico a friend once released a fart, and he noted, “Hay un bujo muerto sobre la mesa,” literally “There’s a dead owl under the table.”

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