toot, toot, hey, beep, beep

So last night I was enjoying yet another slow night at the bookstore - where for the duration of summer break, I get to be out mingling among the grown ups on the sales floor and not penned in the children's department, so can I get an amen? - when I decided to head to the break room to enjoy a few minutes with my delicious Diet Mountain Dew and the latest copy of People. Because I enjoy perusing the fine literature which surrounds me.

Anyway, I'm walking, walking, walking with my head down and my swingy name tag, the one that, when I'm wearing it, prompts people to ask, "Hey, do you work here?", when a coworker came peeling around the corner from the cafe and says she'd love to join me on my break, which was weird because I don't recall asking, "Hey, would you love to join me on my break? And do you think I use the words 'hey' and 'anyway' too much when I write? What about 'so'?"

So my coworker falls in line in front of me and we continue our toe-gazing march toward the break room when she suddenly comes to a screeching halt in front of me to bend down and pick up a book that had fallen off the children's octagon. Because I was admiring my super sexy black Reeboks instead of keeping an eye on the horizon, her sudden halt nearly caused me to leapfrog her. In fact, as I bounced off her rump, I was sure casual passersby would recoil in fear, slap their hands over their children's eyes, and tsk, tsk us, thinking they'd stumbled upon some bizarro bibliophile porn,

Anyway, it was while my coworker was in the deepest throws of her downward spiral, just as I stumbled back a step after bouncing off her ass, that she expelled a giant fart balloon. The kind that I normally only hear within the confines of my own home because hi, I live with penis-bearing creatures who rate their expulsions, thank you, and I know when I've been rendered speechless, and this one? This one, from this demure older woman, killed me and then I rose from the dead like the zombies I love and, like I zombie, I couldn't speak. I could only make random grunts. I also couldn't move away from her very fast. Damn zombies!

So my coworker, propelled by the hydraulic release of air from her ass, rose up, looked over her shoulder at me, and, with delight...let me repeat that: WITH DELIGHT!!...says, "Heh! Oh, yeah! I gotta go take care of business soon!"

And that? That pretty much summed up my day yesterday. Crappy and close to exploding.

My friends, sometimes you're the farter and sometimes you're the one who gets farted upon. Sometimes you'll end up taking your People magazine outside instead to read by the dying light, and sometimes you'll be stuck humming the hit(s) of Bachman Turner Overdrive the rest of the night (and if you hear a whistle up above - or directly in front of you - and people pushing, people shoving, I suggest you back the hell up post haste) while shelving self-help books, wondering when someone is going to write one for you.

Mark my words.

Just try not to mark your underwear.