Jose Emilio’s cheese cutting was unlike that of others. According to the ancient Sanskrit texts, there are three levels of “malodorous emissions” that can afflict the unenlightened human condition. The first is reminiscent of a stifled trumpet or clarinet. The yogis and saduhs referred to these ass blasts as musical in nature and recommend a diet of yogurt to restore the body’s pranna. They added, “These anal whistles strike high notes and they quickly subside.” The ancients referred to the second type as the “silent but deadly.” If there is a sound it may be similar to escaping steam and are likely to go unnoticed until they are right on top of an unsuspecting victim. They referred to the third level as the “blat-blat-blat” because they “roll along as does thunder.” These are the wicked eye-stingers, the gassy funk and stink bombs that leave residue and a toxicity that penetrates fabric and adheres to the cilia of the nasal passages.
The department quickly discovered that plan to recruit Jose Emilio had backfired, both literally and figuratively. The gag-bombs had broken the molds of all the previous levels of gas. But what was worse was that Jose Emilio had no insight whatsoever about how these “bean blowers” were received by faculty, staff and students. Although he dealt it, he never seemed to have smelt it. Many felt sorry for him; the poor victim of his own intestinal dysfunction. Others were less sympathetic and noted that he most likely enjoyed peeling off a ripper every now and then. Several swore that they had witnessed him “pulling his finger” and laughing to himself.
Faculty began to exchange email over a period of months, trying to figure out an approach to this problem. At first, they hoped that the situation would improve over time so they avoided a direct confrontation. However, when students and office mates began to complain they were forced into action. One graduate student who shared an office with Jose Emilio noted that he passed gas “every minute of every hour of every day” farting on the internet chat rooms. The problem for faculty was that the person who wrote the complaint didn’t name names, and although everyone in the building knew who Mr. Stinky was, no one felt that they could single him out.
The departmental secretary sent a memo to all of the graduate students informing them that the handbook “specified the appropriate uses of the office,” and eluding to the fact that breaking wind clearly wasn’t on the list of accepted activities. Still, Jose Emilio seemed impervious to external feedback. It was as if he were living inside his very own gas chamber; his own fart-terrarium, content in his own Peppy LePew existence.
To be continued…
Cross-posted at My Ongoing Struggle with Misanthropy: http://jimmygabacho.com/?p=784