My coworker farted while we were in conversation, today. I pretended not to hear it so as not to embarrass her, but the sudden nature of the fart was quite noticeable. The warehouse was nearly empty, so the reverb seemed to increase under the aid of the steel plated walls.
I tried to maintain the conversation as if everything was transpiring normally, but the breath of the air changed drastically. Her elongated toot crept from betwixt cleftal horizon, out the back of her jeans, dismissing her belt and climbed up her back beneath her T-shirt. It must’ve noticed me as it slid from under her shirt collar because that’s when it darted in my direction. As the conversation progressed, the lukewarm spirit of her asshole brushed through my beard and planted unwelcome kisses on my mouth and nose—unpleasant. It easily stole my attention from the political events we were discussing.
The worst part of the experience was the fact that I was hungry. My only meal at that point consisted of two small navel oranges and a small glass of apple juice. Realizing that my day’s dietary intake now contained the contents of her rectal lining and soiled undergarments made my stomach churn. Bile rushed up my esophagus to titillate my taste buds with a mixture of flavors akin to lemon wedges, hot sauce, and the rusted side of an old 9 volt battery. I wanted to release the contents of my maw all over her, but I maintained my composure and choked down the stomach acid and decomposing citrus fruit.
I’ve never looked forward to those experiences, but they tend to look forward to me. It’s not uncommon for me to absorb the foul essence of a neighbor from time to time, but I have never grown used to vomiting. I’ve maintained a record of non-regurgitation for years, and I pray that my progress remains ongoing. Only time will tell. Her ass an I still have a few more hours on the clock.