The “Toot” of Commonality That Connects Us All.
I had a really rough morning. Like, super rough.
I have been having some health issues, which can sometimes be unsettling, particularly when you’re at “that age” when you start thinking about age and most specifically, sometimes counting out loud the number of hypothetical years you may have left on the planet.
Needless to say, I have found myself in the care of a cardiologist, which, is a very unsettling prospect no matter what the age. It first left me in one of those whole-body, super tense sort of moods. So, there I sat in my cardiologists office—in the snootiest, most “upscale” part of town where everyone takes such great pride in showing how awfully, well-mannered they are in even the most extreme social settings and situations. It was the very last place on this Earth I had wanted to be when feeling in such an awful frump.
As I got settled in, I noticed that the “delightful” couple sitting next to me was obviously mid-squabble, and although I couldn’t hear the details of the upset, I could tell it must have been something noteworthy because the wife was still giving her husband the, “How can I cause your death, and not ever get caught?” questioning scowl.
The hubby just hung his head with that, “How many more years before I die?” tortured look of desperation on his face.
I felt really bad for the fella because he was filling out the new patient questionnaire, and though I would never dare to offer my medical opinion in an area that is most certainly not an area I should be offering my medical opinion, I will say that I could already see perhaps the source of his stress and upset.
I don’t think he actually needed a cardiologist. A lawyer maybe, but not a cardiologist.
But I digress.
At one point, and still carrying the energy of the earlier upset, the wife muttered something not so very nice and something which I shall not ever repeat. Her husband continued quietly filling out his questionnaire, causing yet even more upset for the distraught wife. And, in an act indicating that she had just about reached the end of her “tolerance rope”—she drew in one of those very long, “I’m about to say something quite lengthy and most certainly involving my feelings” sort of breaths.
Sensing this most imminent attack, and in an attempt to, I believe, thwart said attack, this fine gentleman dropped his pen and clipboard to the floor directly to the front of him. In retrospect, I believe the clipboard and pen to have been thrown rather than dropped, but this may be the army girl in me constructing a much more sophisticated strategy where it ought not be necessary. Sometimes the dropping of a pen and clipboard is simply the dropping of a pen and clipboard.
The point where the story takes a most wonderful, and much needed detour. Because, it just so happens when one tosses a clipboard to the ground in an office filled with awfully, well-mannered, snooty elitists—one must, at some point, pick up the said clipboard. Otherwise, “people may talk.”
So, as this poor fella stretched forward and over at the waist to retrieve the items and thus save himself from these well-mannered, yammerings, he blasted out what I believe to be, the loudest, longest, hugest fart I I have ever heard in my entire life. Like, crazy loud.
Now before you think I’m some sort of sick weirdo who has devised some system for ranking these sorts of things—I assure you, I am not. I am, at best, a most oddly constructed observationist.
As is often the case with a blast of this magnitude, one might expect to witness a reaction or equal or greater value. Astonishingly, there was none. In fact, nobody in that waiting room said a word. They didn’t even look up from their magazines, not even out of curiosity.
I was stunned. Really? My head twists with a floorboard squeak, but this? My goodness.
Suffice to say, there are some sounds on this planet that are most certainly the cause for a quick head turn no matter what our social circles may dictate. The sound of a baby crying, for instance. Screeching tires. The rat-a-tat-tat of a semi-automatic weapon at nightfall (not to draw any similarities). I can only surmise, that there is quite possibly an absence of “tooting” over a certain socio-economic class structure. Interesting.
Meanwhile, this poor man stay slumped over at the waist. At first I thought, “Maybe he’s hurt?” But then I saw his wife’s scoffing glare, and I quickly realized he was just trying to play dead. With every passing moment, in this most awkward and deafening silence, she became ever more and increasingly agitated. Finally, and in an attempt to perhaps “draw him out” she harumphed in the most unkindly of ways, “Well, at least we know something still works.”
At this point, and absolutely completely unintentionally, but yet still quite possibly an act of divine intervention, I moved in to get a little cozier in my chair and not at all to more clearly hear the details of these goings on. Because I was wearing shorts, and because my doctor resides in only the most upscale part of town where all the chairs are constructed of only the finest, and highest quality Italian leather…
Yep, you guessed it. My hand to this universe, as I scooched in a little closer, I made one of those skin to leather chair “farty” sounds. And it wasn’t even a quick, maybe they won’t notice “broop.” No, no—this had more of a “Here, take that, you miserable wench” sort of tones.
To make matters worse, I got a case of the giggles that would put Dom Deluise to shame. Of course, at first I tried my best to shield my face, and thus completely hide this most poorly timed outburst, but when I looked down, I could see the shoulders of this poor man, still hunched over starting to shake. Within an instant, and much to his wife’s absolute, most disapproving disgust, we both lost it. Two oddball outcasts in a sea of well-mannered, but otherwise very uptight and miserable people… laughing uncontrollably. I laughed so hard, I couldn’t even pause to say “I’m so sorry.” Even the nurses, stern at their stations, couldn’t resist the call of the fabulous giggle-siren.
When I left the waiting room, this man looked up and winked at me, I believe to say, “Thank you.”
As I walked away, I remember earlier in my day when I had felt so completely overwhelmed with the fear of my own mortality. Such a heavy thought to start off a morning, but one, nonetheless that I had to face. I remember asking the universe, “Please Universe, please send me a smile today.”
Oh Universe, you clever trickster. Be careful what you ask for because this great wonder-filled universe most certainly has a sense of humor, even if the snooty, well-mannered elitists do not.
And sometimes, the universe will share with you a wonderful lesson—that every day should be filled with a Dom Deluise sort of laughter, even if it means that you are laughing at yourself.
And sometimes, we must not be too discerning in looking for these wonderful lessons as you never know when one of them shall come wrapped up in a fart.
I kind of feel sorry for those who are wrapped up so tightly in formality. If only they would realize the good stuff doesn’t always fall so neatly into line.
Everyone farts. Even in the most upscale locations around the world. This “toot” of commonality connects us all.
And, it’s wonderful.
Editor: Brianna Bemel
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.