By now, you should know (and if you didn’t, now you do) bookstores are my happy place. My sanctuary from the world around me. I find solace and peace and adventure and knowledge within the rows and stacks of paper and ink.
Sometimes, I even find unexpected joy, happiness, hope, and hilarity from the people who roam those magical aisles alongside me. I enjoy sharing those moments with you.
Not long ago, I also shared a story about a fart ninja who cleared out nearly an entire section with a silent but deadly . . . you can read that one, People Who Fart in Bookstores and Other Heinous Fiends, HERE if you’d like. Today, I share another bookstore fart tale with you.
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Last night I had the chance for an evening run to the bookstore. I was a little on the left side of grumpy and like I said, bookstores are my happy place. They soothe the savage beast within and all that, so I put on some pants and headed out for a little literary therapy.
Before I’d even made my first selection, I begrudgingly had to stop my perusal to make a beeline for the bathroom. It had been a multiple cup of coffee kind of day. Thankfully there was one open stall. So including me, that made three ladies in the ladies room.
All was quiet aside from some tinkling noises when all of a sudden, the silence was shattered, broken by a sound I would have expected from a mountain lumberjack with a healthy appetite for nothing but broccoli and pork and beans.
It came from the furthest stall from me. It sounded like three consecutive bursts from a rapid fire machine gun, fired into a cave at midnight. Bathrooms always have excellent acoustics. Each release was approximately two seconds long, with perhaps a second between them.
Once I realized we were not under attack, I heard a mortified sounding sigh followed by a whispered curse and, “Omigod. That actually just happened.”
The gal in the stall next to me immediately said, “Grandpa? Is that you?” I would have pissed myself if I hadn’t already emptied my bladder.
Nothing from the shooter. Not a sound.
I got out of there quickly because if didn’t, I was going to lose it and laugh, possibly hysterically, and likely add to the poor lady in the last stalls obvious embarrassment.
Mind you, I wasn’t restraining laughter directed at the woman with some obvious gastrointestinal difficulties, although, and no – I am not a child, farts are sometimes funny, I raised four kids. You have to laugh. I wanted to giggle, perhaps even guffaw at the comment that came after the gas attack.
Now, don’t judge me too harshly here, but damn I want to be friends with that chick in the middle stall. I wanted to high five her under the wall separating us, but you know, gross.
I do hope the gas attack lady was okay, I’m quite certain she felt better following the epic release. The three of us will likely never forget our time in the bookstore bathroom. I think we bonded.
To the quick-witted and slightly twisted occupant in the middle stall, you made an awkward situation possibly even more awkward in a hey, no big deal, everyone farts, might as well make it funny kind of way, and if you ever find this little retelling of our time in the Barnes & Noble bathroom on September 20, 2017 at approximately 7:30 PM – message me. Seriously. We might be related.