I’ll tell you. One time, we had this really long staff meeting. I think they were going over the annual report, and for some reason they had to read every damn section. So a boring staff meeting—pretty normal, right? It’s a time waster, but that’s what management wants. Lot’s of wasted time. Don’t they know there’s work to be done? No one else is going to do it!
Maybe it was something I ate at lunch. Maybe it was a bug. But all of a sudden I was really gassy. And it was smelly stuff, too. I tried to let it out as quietly as possible, but gradually you saw all these weird starings going on. People would look at one person and then another, and gradually they focused in on me. Even the boss was looking, but what could he do? It was his rule that no one was excused from such meetings, even to go to the loo, unless World War III was breaking out, and even then, it wasn’t clear. But farting? That clearly does not cross the threshold.
At least, not before then. The rest of my fellow employees knew what the deal was, and knew I couldn’t do anything about it. But my boss—well, it was his rule. He could change it.
Finally, he said, “Parker,” not that my name is Parker, but it sounds better than Wundy, “I believe I need that report you were working on on my desk at 9 am tomorrow. I think you better go and finish it.”
Thus was everyone else in the room spared my flatulance, and I was spared the meeting. Of course, there was no report to get in. It wasn’t my job to do reports and everyone knew it. But not one complained.