I worked in a drug rehab center for teenagers. I was new and only 21 years old, so it was a constant battle in the beginning to establish myself as someone to be obeyed. I had begun cracking down on bad behavior. One of our policies was that the patients could not have caffeinated coffee. I saw a girl at the coffee machine, and I knew she was getting the real stuff. I had finally caught her! She was a constant nuisance to me and the rest of the staff, and she was very sneaky. I, Micah, had caught her in the act. I yelled across the cafeteria, “Elaine! Put that back! I saw you get the regular coffee!” “I didn’t…” she began, but I cut her off. “Yes, you did. I watched you. Now, put it back!” “It’s decaf.” Then I remembered. The orange one was decaf, and I was an idiot who had just lost more authority in those sneaky little teenage minds.
micah the admin
Here I was, getting back into the van, ready to put my head down, when all of a sudden, a huge surge of gas rushed down into my lower intestine. I tensed up, and saved myself from obvious embarrassment. Seconds later, round two of gas surged into my gut. Then quickly came number three, and then number four. My lower intestine was imitating a balloon. I was getting bigger and bigger and bigger.
A few minutes later, somewhere between surge number eight and ten, I let loose a small amount of gas. Quicker than I could think, “I wonder if anyone noticed?” the guy sitting in the seat in front of me cried out, “Oh man! Who farted?!?” I had to humbly admit that it was me. It contaminated the whole van. Everyone got a whiff. So, I had to “put a cork” in it.
I was just about exploding when the van stopped to switch drivers. I had not rested at all. When we stopped, I ran for the nearest toilet. After expulsing two sonic booms, I immediately heard someone in the stall next to me get up, put on his pants, flush, and leave his stall in less than 5 seconds. Relieved, I walked slowly back to the van.
It was my turn to drive. I thought I had eliminated everything, but the gas started surging in me again. This time, I was facing the stress of driving the 15-passenger van through mountain valleys and up and down major hills, having to pass slower drivers. I couldn’t let myself get so big. Never could I put up with driving that way. So, I decided to drive down the gas into the seat, hoping it would absorb the force and the stink.
My nostrils searched for the stench. They found none. I got a little bolder. My seat received surge number two. Still no stink. Going up an uphill curve, my groin got fat, and again I made my seat my victim. Amazingly, I smelled nothing. As I continued to freely pass gas, reality finally hit me. About the fifth or sixth time, I just about died at the wheel because the smell was so bad. And then it suddenly dawned on me – NO ONE was resting, no one was reading, no one listening to music, and no one was chatting with anyone. I looked through the rear-view mirror. They were all looking at me, with angry looks on their faces, especially the girls. Apparently, I smelled nothing those other times because the vent blew the stink into the faces of everybody else sitting behind me. Humiliated, I had to hold it for the next couple of hours of driving.
At the next stop, I let loose my last blast, and outside it still stunk. If you had asked me why I didn’t take anything to eliminate the gas, I would have told you, “I have no idea.” I went into the fast food place, and ate a big burger meal. Surprisingly, my gas stopped. I had no more for the rest of the entire trip. Go figure.
Joe – MD
I work as a cashier at a local groccery store. I was in charge of the self check out one day and I had noticed the customer at one of the machines was looking at me with an odd expression. I asked if there was anything I could help her with and the words “How far along are you sweetie?” slipped out of her mouth. This was literally a moment I have been waiting for because I have always wanted that moment of awkardness that I could continue to laugh about the rest of my life. Without missing a beat I looked her in the eye and said “Oh honey, I’m just fat.” She gasped instantly and started frantically appologizing. my co-workers and I laughed about it for the longest time.
Nicole – somewhere
I own a children’s clothing store. One day a mom kept sniffing around her toddler, and said the obvious thing, “I think you have a poopy diaper.” When she went to check this situation further, she discovered no poop was in the diaper. “Must have just been gas.” My next customer in that area of the store said, “There seems to be some poop or something under this rack.” Yep, there it was! Helpful tip: make sure your kid’s diapers are snug and secure before going out in public, because the alternative makes ME look bad.
Laurel – NH
When I worked at Wal-Mart I was the under-paid angry customer problem solver. We had a policy saying that one could only use a check if that person’s name was on the check. This was obvious to me. Don’t let people use stolen checks. Our customers should have appreciated it. One of my cashiers called me over because she had an angry lady in front of her. I would usually give in to whatever crazy thing a customer wanted to insure they would come back, but we couldn’t budge on issues of potential fraud. I nicely explained to the lady the reason we couldn’t take the check. She said, “It’s my husband’s checkbook!” I said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. We do this to protect you and the rest of our customers.” She left in a huff to go get another method of payment. I forgot about it I went to go goof off at the customer service area. I was laughing a lot and chatting with a friend of mine, who happened to be black. The lady came in all angry and approached me. She pointed in my face and yelled, “You’re a racist b——-, and you can f— off!” Then I realized that she must have been a really light skinned black person or perhaps was part Hispanic or Native American. I don’t know. I would have called her white and maybe, if asked, wonder about her grandparents’ ethnicity. I think my skin was darker. Either way, I was embarrassed.
I was about 12 years old, a little chubby with chin length hair and the self-esteem of a twelve year old. I went with my mom to my younger sister’s school track and field day. I was sitting on a blanket when my sister’s friend and her mother walked over. The girl’s mother smiled at me and asked loudly to my sister, “Oh Becca, is this your sister?” I don’t think I said anything, and I certainly didn’t smile. I got my hair cut off within a day or two.
About 10 years ago, I ran into a friend from my youth camp days. I had dinner with her and her pastor’s wife. I listened as Tricia talked about finding her true love. Her friend talked about her soulmate and their 6 children. They wondered aloud why a great gal like me was “still single.” A week or so later Tricia called me. She told me about this great guy, her pastor’s brother. I agreed to let Tricia give him my phone number. He lived about an hour away so I didn’t fear him just dropping by. The first phone call was awkward to say the least. He told me about his work in the ministry. Great! The second phone call he talked about his ministry. Good! He hasn’t gone back to his old ways. The next phone call he talked about coming to my town in a week. Okay. He has a reliable vehicle. The next phone call, 2 days before he would eventually come to my neck of the woods, he asked me what I was doing the day he came. Without knowing what I was saying, I ended up inviting him to have dinner with my parents. So the first time I met this shy guy, he was meeting my parents also. What had I done! Thankfully, my mother can have a conversation with a snail. Naturally Tricia called me the next night. I just didn’t see any chemistry. Being the give-people-the-benefit-of-the-doubt type of person I am, I think I still listened the next time he called. Tricia invited me to come visit her and her husband the following weekend. Great! I could use a get-away. Their church was having a bonfire, hayride Fall festival we would go to that Friday night. Mr. Personality would be there. I thought I would give him another chance. I could see him on his own turf with his friends and family. The hayride was fun- a truck full of adults, kids and hay. I forgot to pack a Claritin. The bonfire was good- nothing like smores and soot in your eye. The house of the hostess was decorated well. Again I was glad to say goodnight to this guy. Back at Tricia’s, we had some girl-talk time. She wanted to know what I thought about Mr. Not So Right for me. I told her that he has yet to ask me about myself…what I like to do for fun…about my goals for my future…about me. Before I went to bed, he called me. He asked me if I wanted to meet for breakfast in the morning before I left to go home. I figured I would let him down gently over hotcakes and sausage. He hadn’t spent “technically” any money on me yet. I said yes. While I ate my biscuits and gravy with a large chocolate milk, he asked me what I like to do for fun. He asked me about my goals for the future. This was Crestview, not the twilight zone. Before the check arrived and I order a to-go refill on my darkcow juice, I told him I really didn’t feel we had much in common. He might have mentioned liking to bowl as I walked to the ladies’ room while he waited to pay the bill. If I had only said sure, I might have gotten a piece of candy thrown in or an iced soda of Orange Cream. So many choices at Crackerbarrel. He waited to call until Sunday night. Bewildered, I politely responded with yes/no answers to his few questions. Again I said, we really don’t have hardly anything at all in common. Tricia called the next day. I relayed to her what I thought I had relayed to him. The next time he called, I didn’t answer. The final time he called, I didn’t answer. Tricia and I eventually lost contact. We reconnected last year. She doesn’t live in Crestview anymore. She hasn’t offered to fix-her-up anymore. I haven’t invited myself to visit. I am still a novice dater/courter.
Karen – FL
There was a time that I was invited to speak in a Brazilian city that I had never visited before. I was at a point in my language learning when I could do OK in a conversation but needed a translator for public speaking. So, after one extended meeting, we went out for all-you-can-eat pizza. It was nearly midnight. I was tired from the meeting. If you have ever are learned a new language, you will know that to try to communicate in it when you’re tired can be a recipe for disaster. This was no different. So, the waiters were serving different kinds of pizza. One was sliced chicken with a certain cheese topping that I liked at the time. However, it was one of those Portuguese words (“catupiry”) that I believe almost any foreigner would have a hard time pronouncing correctly. Being tired, there was no way I would be able to say it correctly if couldn’t say it when totally alert. The word that came to my mind was mixture of that cheese and the word for computer. When I spoke out my desire for THAT pizza, my translator, a fair, blond-haired lady, who was sitting right next to me, dropped her mouth so fast and turned the deepest shade of red that I can ever remember in my experience, and started saying, “I can’t believe you just said that!” She started alternating between shock, laughter, and sheer embarrassment. “Say what?” I had no clue. Finally, after a few minutes of the internal terror of, “What did I just say?!”, someone translated my gaffe. Imagine this: I am one of featured speakers in a conference, and I just used one of the worst swear words in Portuguese. It is a punchy word that sums up all of the gross things that prostitutes do in their sexual acts. I had just spoken out loud that I wanted all that on a pizza … with chicken.
Joseph – DC
