Could They Be Talking About You?

I've always been a bit hazy on the sanctity of the whole attorney/client privilege, and these days with the Patriot Act poking into what people buy at bookstores I'm a little more leery about sharing the following, but I'm going to throw caution to the wind, so to speak, and let you in on this phenomenon, because ultimately it might involve you, and I like to offer my readers help in their personal lives as much as I can. The book pictured above, The History of Farting, is a very much real, in print, and pretty good selling little impulse item we keep stocked near the cash registers at my new place of employment. As you might imagine, with the long lines around the Christmas season and post-Christmas sales season, and with customers buying a lot of items, casuing them to stand at the register for a couple of minutes, the farting book is a steady source of amusement. For me, the entertainment value wore off quickly enough; no more do I respond with such witticisms as, "Oh, that book's a real gas," or "That book stinks," whenever a customer picks it up and starts to laugh. "One of our bestsellers," is about the only thing I have to say by now.

To be honest, I've never opened the book myself. While I am on record waxing eloquently about a particular fart, I am not all that interested in the overall history of wind passing. That said, my interest has been piqued by what is pretty much a common response when there are two or more friends or family members gathered together at the cash register. Invariably one person will see the book, start to chuckle, pick it up and show it to another person, and say something like, "We should get this for Uncle Frank," or "This has Patsy written all over it," or "This is perfect for daddy's stocking." Now while I might be thankful that it is these friends/relatives of Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al. who are standing in close proximity to me rather than Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al., my heart goes out a bit to Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al. Do they know they have a reputation for being either an uber farter or someone who might appreciate a book about the history of farting? Maybe they have a medical condition (ah, the phrase "medical condition"--an instant get-you-off-the-hook one if there ever was one). It's to the point where every time a customer holds up the book and refers to some Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al., I get a mental picture of some Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al. with his or her ears aflame, squirming on some couch somewhere trying his or her best not to "let one go."

On particularly busy days, when the fart book is garnering lots of attention and eliciting myriad chuckles at the expense of absent Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al., my sympathy starts to slide into neurotic empathy. Could someone, at some other hip store, be picking up the same book at this very instant and substitooting my name for Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy. et al.? How does a socially and interpersonally conscious person broach the subject that he or she fears he or she might be a member of the Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al. club? "Honey, do I fart too much?" "Say Bill, would you say I have a wind problem?" Oh the torture!

Thus, on this universal the-holidays-are-over-so-settle-in-for-winter's-long-evil-haul-and-get-back-to-the-tedious-humdrum-that-is-our-lives day, January 3, I decree that this day, the first Monday after the holidays, be National Make Good With the Notorious Farter In Your Life Day. He or she's been made fun of enough lately, I have to believe, what with parties, get-togethers, and stockings stuffed with The History of Farting (my God, I just realized, what if Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al. show up wanting to exchange a History of Farting book because "I got two of them in my stocking, go figure"? I might just break down in sympathetic overload). So, if you're guilty of poking some fun at Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al., today is the day to beg forgiveness. And if you are a Uncle Frank, Patsy, daddy, et al., don't be upset if someone comes to you confessing their sins.

The Wind--Nolan Strong and The Diablos by spitoutyourgumblog