We spend our days, most of them, with our amusements and hardships. Most are scarcely worthy of note. But every once in a while there occurs an event of such notoriety that it must be chronicled (or at least blogged). This is the tale of one such remarkable feat.
I was out with my buddy Don last night, in a hotel bar near work, having a beer (perhaps two) and a few laughs. At some point in the evening, nature called. I answered. The Little Drunk's Room is down the hall from the bar -- in the hotel proper.
I did my business, zipped up, washed my hands and headed to the exit. Right as I reached the door, a tourist entered, and we had one of those awkward trying to get past each other in a confined space moments. Then it hit me.
Me [cheerfully]: I hope you like farts!
Tourist [confused]: What?
I don't want to downplay the significance of the timing, which was, by the way, superb (future scholars may debate if I let it go too soon or too late by a fraction of a second, but for our purposes we can assume that it was done perfectly). But the sound, the sound, my friends, was a thing of wonder. The pitch and duration were each impressive in their own right. The volume shook the very heavens. Outside, car alarms were set off. Upstairs in the hotel, children cried. The ghost of Ben Kenobi complained of some strange "disturbance in The Force".
It was epic.
Tourist [sadly]: Oh.
Back I walked down the hallway to the bar, grinning bemusedly to myself. Ok, that's a lie; I laughed so hard my stomcach hurt. I was still laughing when the tourist and his wife appeared at the entrance to the bar. They raised their fists in salute (I swear I'm not making that up). I think they wanted my autograph.
Sorry, just had to share.