THE ANSWER IS BLOWIN' IN THE WIND

There are only six people that work in my my office. Two of the men are hardly ever there, and then my boss and his wife are in and out of the office. That leaves my mom and I as the ones that are always there. So when I discovered that there is a girls' single-shooter and a boys' single-shooter, this seemed like no big deal.

The office is actually an old house and the bathrooms...HAVE NO FANS! Nothing. Nada. I can deal with someone hearing me pee. There is nothing brown or stinky or anal about pee. But I cringed at the thought of someone hearing me fart yet alone farting in an echoey, old bathroom. My mom has heard the farting for 34 years, but still. I mean hell, I still laugh when I have a tuba session alone!

Anyways, I am not adjusting well to the time difference. I used to get up for my 9 AM job in between 7:30-8 AM back in Washington. Now I have to get up at 6:30 to be at my 8 AM job. This is basically like me getting up at 3:30 AM. I am tired and no amount of coffee seems to be helping me out.

I was online doing research for work today and my eyes were burning. I was SO tired. My mom asked if I'd go get us lunch and I did. I decided to stop and buy a disgusting, sugar-free Red Bull and down it in hopes of staying functional until 5:30. Please know that I DESPISE Red Bull, in fact I question as to whether or not in even really works. So I down Red Bull, eat half a Subway sandwich (yes, close your mouths...it IS shocking) and head back to work.

Two hours later, the Red Bull hit, but it didn't wake ME up. It woke up my butt. The cramping started, but people were in the office. I cringed. I held my tummy. I did Lamaze breathing, but nothing would make it go away. Finally, there were three of us - me, my mom and the owner's wife. I went to my mom cringing, complaining of the impending diarrhea. I expressed my fears of blowing ass with no fan to cover the noise. She said it would be okay (and I remembered previous mention of the air freshener in the closet outside the bathroom).

The poo would no longer hold. I ran into the bathroom and squeezed my cheeks to slow down the diarrhea and limit it's noise. With the sheer relief came quiet explosions. I was relieved that I had the situation under control, wiped, pulled up my pants, and washed my hands. Then the pain came. Horrible, "I'm not done yet" pain. I whipped my pants down again and turned on the sink.

Plehhhhh! Ploooooo! Plooo-blahhhhhh!

It was violent. I squeezed tightly and held it in while I went for my sure-proof silencer - toilet paper. Now, I typically use this to muffle farts on the john while in a date's bathroom, or somewhere else that I do not yet want to be heard. I would ball up toilet paper, place it accordingly and fart away. It's like a Charmin silencer for buttholes. Now I had to try it with the diarrhea.

I knew I could not HOLD the TP there while I blew, so I wadded up enough to fit nicely between the cheeks and squeezed them together to lock in the psuedo device. It stayed. And so I released. At first it worked nicely, but then it started absorbing...okay this is foul and I'm even grossing myself out now. Let's sum it up then. Basically after a few bombs went off, the toilet paper became a weapon. With the next blow it shot like a paper bullet into the bottom of the bowl. I mean, it SHOT. It was violent and had there been, say a mermaid or a fish in the toilet, I would have surely put it's eye out.

I was laughing so hard at this point it no longer mattered. I finished, pulled up my pants, washed my hands and snuck the air freshener into the bathroom. I turned on the water again and started spraying. No amount of water can cover up the "HISSSSSSSSS" that announces your ass just sprayed. I ran into my mom's office dying laughing and shared with her what had just happened and she laughed too and then called me something, surely a moron, or a Mormon or something like that.

And then, noticing my other coworker was still at her desk, I sat back down grateful that Southerners are just too polite to tell you, they could hear you blow ass.

It's apparently their civic doody.