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Post: Blog2_Post
  • Writer's pictureLydia Lampert

Modern Day Fart Man

I have to say over the past two months, I came to the realization that some people really, really love to fart, and some even more than others.  While I was in Princeton House, I met many people that had no  issues with what one might call “Crop Dusting.” After my first day there out amongst the other patients, I learned very quickly to never walk behind many of the patients. We were told to take into consideration that the people on our unit were troubled, had issues and were ill.  I have to say that there were many that needed to seek the help of a good gastroenterologist because the smells were putrid.

There was one patient, however, who shall remain nameless, who successfully eliminated all barriers to his flatulence, and did so proudly.  He was somewhat overweight, so there was really no reason that the waist of his sweatpants sat below his buttocks, so that his entire pair of boxers hung out, and at times slipped down as well, exposing his pimply white ass. If that isn’t bad enough, the fumes that he would proudly expel were repulsive.  He would do this during meals, almost parading around like a proud peacock, practically sharting himself. So much so, that many of the male patients would almost kick his ass.

If that isn’t bad enough, we were entitled to four smoke breaks per day, and this guy relished these breaks, but mind you, it was not for the cigarettes, but rather to trap up to 17 people in the elevator and let one rip, big and loud and proud. I almost gagged at times, then found some friends that would let me bury my face in their back so I didn’t have to smell it as badly.  Thank God, we only had to go down one level, and when I tell you people ran out of that elevator like Walmart was giving away free televisions on Black Friday, I’m not shitting you (no pun intended…lol).

I tell you this background because the real story here is that I actually came face to ass with him during our morning stretch group. Why he chose to stretch in front of me, I will never know, and at the time I was okay with it, until the instructor told everyone to get down on the floor on our bellies so we could stretch our leg and back muscles. Lucky me, this was one of those days that his pants were hanging really low. Anyway, we are all on our bellies pulling our feet up towards our backs. Did I mention he had a robust belly? Well during the stretch, he started teetering. Sweat started dripping from my brow and I began praying to God like I never had, that he would roll the other way, but once again, God ignored me.  Slowly he began to teeter even further and then there it was, his full ass crack in my face, no boxers as a filter as they had slipped down as well. This gave the saying “Crack Kills” a whole new meaning.

I jumped up as fast as I could, thanking God that he did not dust me for I am a little person and they probably would have had to send me out with the rescue squad for CO2 poisoning.

As a nurse I tried very hard to make excuses for him:

1. Maybe he lost a lot of weight in a manic phase and never had time to get clothes that fit

2. Perhaps he indeed had GI issues

3. Maybe he came from another country or who knows, planet, where this type of open flatulence was considered a gift

For the life of me, I could not come up with an excuse for him. The final straw for me was when I saw him reach bare handed and scratch his ass, then grab a coffee cup. Gag. I never took a cup from the counter again. Instead I would always ask the nurse for a clean cup.  I do understand the young man was sick, but I just couldn’t take it.  Some may think I am being mean, but had you been there with me, you would totally understand.

There was also a young lady on the unit that would assign people rap names. Mine was B-Rabbit (no idea why), but I don’t think she ever assigned one to that guy, probably for fear of gaseous retaliation while standing in line for cookie time (yes we did get cookies and juice everyday at 2:15 between groups and he was always first in line), but if it was up to me, I would have deemed him Puff Daddy.

If you are reading this and have at times found enjoyment in this practice, more power to you, but I beg of you, at least say excuse me when you are done instead of letting out a sinister laugh like he did.

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