At 08.45 hrs this morning, we (my client and I) infiltrated the coffee shop at the corner of Albany and Alfred Roads.
We nipped in under enemy travel agents radar and slunk our way to the counter.
An female enemy sentry was ordering coffee directly ahead of us ... we watched and listened ... awaiting our moment to strike.
"Can I help you?" asked the young man behind the counter.
"Oh! Ya! Lartay and a scOne, if you would be so kind" replied the enemy.
We noted the mispronunciation of the word "latte" and the over emphasised sound of the 'O' in "scone".
This was, we agreed (due to the snotty manner of speech), obviously no regular enemy travel agent. This was enemy 'top brass'.
As the patrol moved off, my client moved in for the kill.
KAPLOWEEEEEEEEEE!
The result was devastation! Coffee all over the floor and a scone left rolling towards the door and then forlornly spinning, like the proverbial wagon wheel, to a halt.
Our little game of soldiers came to an end at that point and the woman graciously accepted responsibility for the little 'incident', which was just as well, because we only had enough loose change for our own coffee's.
Anyway, that is not what I intended to write about. That was pure and unadulterated 'digression' for which I half-heartedly apologise for.
My point, and indeed the subject of this post, is why do people fart when they sit next, or close, to me in that particular cafe?
On Monday, it was my client who dropped an SBD (silent but deadly) fart that almost caused a mass exodus of customers.
On Tuesday Pete, the local 'bag man', who occasionally sweeps up in exchange for a morning coffee and a bun, let rip with real belter that caused me and my Latte to experience a 'Jurassic Park' moment. I watched as ripples formed on the surface of my latte, just prior to being engulfed in the most disgustingly foul odour that can only be described as a 'brussel sprout' cloud.
This morning, after our little 'incident', it was the turn of some guy in a suit. We sat on one of the low sofa's that they have around the fire place (not lit). Directly behind us and facing the other way was an identical sofa which backed onto ours.
When the guy behind us let rip, it was muffled by the sofa's cushions, so we heard nothing. But both Wullie (name changed so he doesn't get into trouble) and myself felt the stuttering vibrations of his 'expulsion' like a mini-earthquake through the frame of our sofa.
Being polite, I said nothing and awaited the pong that was sure to come. Wullie on the other hand, being less than adept in the politeness stakes, turned immediately to the guy behind us and asked "Have you farted?".
He didn't answer, but supped his coffee very quickly and left. As he stood up, the gas we were anticipating was released and hit us, causing eyes to water and noses to automatically try to block themselves. It was so bad that I reckon the it contravened nearly ALL of the Geneva Convention laws on the use of chemicals in warfare.
It was so bad that we had to move to the rear of the cafe and await rescue.
Wullie was not content with letting him leave without some form of retribution.
As the man reached for the door to leave, Wullie pointed at him and shouted.
"That man did it! Not me!"
This comment seemed to alleviate everyone's suffering somewhat and raised more than few chuckles.
Oh my! I am so sorry that this happens to you. To be honest I had a dream that I was eating at I am guessing a Dinner Theater. When Justin Bieber (this like 16 year old singer that is all the rage amongst tweens and teenagers and even some mothers over here) Anyways he comes over to my aisle and is dancing obnoxiously. I try to pay him no mind but then he turns around sticking his arse in my face and lets out a big one. I was so furious because the chicken was ruined now. So I beamed my dinner plate at the back of his head to let him know to never ever mess with my dinner. So I totally feel your pain!
ReplyDeleteI seem to be a magnet for 'farters' everywhere I go!
ReplyDelete