The EIGHTH FLOOR

    University didn't exactly take me into a related field of work, nor did it turn me into a super genius. I learnt new facts and more importantly I discovered how to learn, made great friends, and had lots of fun between the stress of assignments and exams.

    In the fall of my second year, with my hair longer and now half purple to hide the shame of the previous years fall, I was ready to continue my higher learning. I was working part time at a clothing store for Tall Women (seven years, second shortest employee) and studying hard. I was putting in more hours that usual at work with affected my time management, and come early October the school work had piled high.

    In the middle of my stress, my world was shaken by the loss of an incredible man. He was my religion teacher in high school, and he was the teacher. He taught about love and all religions, told stories of his life to teach us lessons, was compassionate and understanding, loving and giving; the kind of person that changes lives. He changed mine in many ways (but to go on about him, would take hours).

    He had passed away after a long battle with cancer, and I took the news as expected, with a heavy heart. I recall seeing some of my old teachers at the funeral home, ones that I had looked up too and known in a professional sense, standing around crying. It shook me to not only see such a good soul taken, but to see the realities of life and growing up.

    Within days of the service, the weather jumped from hot to cold. With that instability, and a lack of overall sleep, I got sick. I had one of the worst coughs I've ever had, and I found myself dragging through the days. I disrupted lectures with coughing, scared customers at work with my sniffles, and fought hard to keep moving because it was my only option to succeed. I was behind in work, and was trying to catch up.

    It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I had no classes on that day, all I had to do, was head up to the University, photocopy an article in the library, and read it at home. I made my way up to the University, eventually located parking, and started the walk to the main lobby.

    The wind was cold, I was sweaty and had a fever, I felt aches all over my body (turned out to be bronchitis) and to top it all off, I was filled with grief. I wanted to give up that day, I remember dreaming about going home, curling up, and sleeping for a month. I was irritable because I was sick, and I was angry at the world because I lost someone dear.

    The University I went to has a massive tower that holds a well stocked library within. The elevator could at times be a pain to wait for, but there were floors designated for full quiet which I utilised to study in from time to time. I love libraries as I have said, but I wasn't feeling the love this particular day.

    I knew the subject I was looking for would be on the eighth floor, so I went straight to the elevators an waited among other students. I repressed the desire to cough, and stood there silently, half fighting back tears. I just wanted to go home, I hated everything.

    The elevator finally took me up to my floor, and I exited. The eighth floor is a silent floor, no cell phones, no music, no talking, and unless you want to be scowled at by the students at the study areas that surround the entire outside of the floor, you best try not to breathe too loudly.

    The floor was packed full of students, but not a sound was made. People were hard at work, and I was relieved to find that of the three computers on the floor, one was available. I logged on and started to search for the information on the article, and found myself clearing my throat, it was itchy. I was between two other students and I shot them both an apologetic look.

    I finally found the article number I was looking for, and began to scribe it down on a scrap piece of paper, when I stared to cough. I couldn't fight it anymore, it's wasn't my fault, I was sick. I coughed a  few times before letting out a loud hack, which unfortunately, due to the force of the cough, caused me to also let out a huge, even louder fart.

    I farted. I farted in the library, and I swear it echoed even three floors down. I paused for only a moment and could see in my peripheral vision that the person on either side of me was shaking with most likely the desire to laugh. I then picked up my bag, turn to the two people separately as they shook trying to fight the laughter (I don't blame them) and said “Yep, that was me.”

    With that I exited as fast as I could, found the stairs (because despite feeling terrible I was not about to stand there for even one second waiting for the elevator) and raced as fast as I could out of the building. I got to my car, and went home.

    I know, terrible thing to happen at such a time. But I think it happened for a reason, because when I got home, I fired up the computer (avec dial-up Internet) and wrote the story down. I then emailed the story to every single person on my contact list, adding that the man who died (who so many of them had loved) always preached about seeing each day as a gift and to enjoy life.

    I let them know that I was feeling down, and all it took, was me farting in the library, to be reminded that life is beautiful, life is sad, and life is fucking hilarious. I sent it out, took some medication, and took a long nap.

    I never thought farting in front of strangers (and one of that magnitude) would be such a blessing. I was shaken out of my sad cloud, and felt a glimmer of joy that day. Having shoulder length hair that was white blond on top and bright purple on bottom (before it was common I will add) made me a bit of a target as I attended a mainly conservative school. That means that those present on the day of the farting, no doubt saw me with friends later on and could easily pick out the fart girl (and tell said story, wouldn't you?).

    Something else incredible happened that day. When I awoke hours later I checked my email, and the email I sent got the most replies I have ever seen in my inbox. It wasn't people consoling me or feeling bad, it was people telling me they laughed, they cried laughing, and that I brightened their day. To add, almost all those who replied, sent me their own story of mortification, all delightfully entertaining. 

    It was amazing, not only did I feel better shortly there after, I used the lessons of a great man shortly after his passing and applied it to life. On any test when I was in his class, bonus marks were given for adding under the date that “today is the best day of my life.” I know the true value of this lesson thanks to bronchitis and gas, and a truly brilliant man. That, and now I have a bunch of dirt on my friends.

Oh Christmas Tree

    Teenage years were most difficult growing up with sister, a sister who had a great memory of my embarrassing childhood and would use this information at her leisure. To understand this in full, I have to take you further back, to a time when I was seven.

    Have you ever seen National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase? If you haven't, stop reading immediately and go watch it. My father actually looks like Chevy Chase, and has the same ideas about Christmas lights, spirit, and trees.

    Each year, the family would drive out into the country to chop down that years tree from a tree farm. There was always hot chocolate and horses, and I loved being out in the fresh air. When I was seven, I was told I was allowed to bring a friend, and it seemed the Christmas season couldn't get any better.

    As we made our way out to the farm, my family and two friends,  I could feel my stomach dance with excitement. I was wearing my very stylish 80's pink and green full body snowsuit, and rocking a thick pair of wool gloves. Hidden beneath it all was the real gem; my very own pair, of mickey mouse underpants.

    Perhaps my stomach was overjoyed, because eventually the excitement and dancing became upset, and the upset became shitting my pants in the middle of the woods in a fucking snow suit.

    I can still feel the embarrassment of pulling my mother aside to tell her, and worse the cold air on my ass as she wiped up what she could in between the trees with my wool gloves. The gloves, and my white pair of mickey mouse underwear would become garbage, and I was made to sit in the car the whole way home, after literally shitting my pants. Luckily, nothing hides the smell of poo like a full snowsuit.

    In any other family, the embarrassment and trauma would most likely end there, but not in my family, we're messed up. My mom can't keep a speck of information to herself, and eventually told my father and sister. They laughed about it then, they still laugh about it now.

    I figured when all was said and done, my family and somehow I would be able to forget about it all, but that's not the family I was born into. My sister, loves this story, she loves it so much she enjoys sharing it with the people in my life.

    When I was in grade 11, I was bringing a boyfriend home for dinner for the first time, and pleaded with my sister not to breath a word of my past, especially the one about the Christmas tree, she agreed. Surprised, I thanked her, and was slightly less nervous about the meeting (but still nervous, I have a family full of lunatics)

    My sister is a woman of her word, and she indeed kept it. She did not once verbally mention the story.  My boyfriend entered the house, shook hands with the maniacs and then we all sat down in the living room to get to know each other.

    My dad didn't bust in with anything inappropriate, and my mom kept the one liners at bay. I started to feel at ease. I started to think everything was going to be OK (NOTE: anytime I think or say this in my life, within 36 hrs, things go to shit) My sister, keeping her word, decided to get up and serenade all company with a song on the family piano that still sits in my parents living room.

    It's almost like a moment out of a movie, everyone gathered round the piano for some family time. It seemed perfect, that is, until my sister hit the keys to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree.” Please note, that it was June.

    I could feel my face glowing red as my sister belted out the words to the tune, and my parents started to laugh. My boyfriend at the time looked at me confused, and asked if there was something he was missing, to that I added, “It's funny because it's June.”

    I admit my nerves were jangled, but I managed to make it out of that situation unscathed. Time moved on as well did my boyfriend. The following Christmas, my sister's boyfriend (now my brother in law) joined us for dinner, and nervously sat to become initiated as part of the family. I felt it deep down, now was my chance for revenge.

    There were never enough seats in the house to accommodate all parties, so the piano bench would get brought out for large family meals. At this particular meal; my parents, my sister, my aunt, my cousin and a jittery future brother in law were all in attendance. No piano bench meant no chance to sit at the piano, my story, was safe.

    Dinner had started and the conversation was going overall well. There was no political or religious debates ending in tears (it happens) and now would be my time to chime in with silly things from my sisters past (which she stresses still there are none).

    As the conversation lulled (miracle if you ask me) my opportunity knocked, and I cleared my throat to tell her potato chip story (later, I promise). Before any words could escape from my mouth, my sister started to hum a familiar tune. She then turned and looked at me all the while with a giant smirk on her face as she hummed her best version of O Christmas Tree, to which all parties laughed (yes, the whole fucking family knows).

    My brother in law looked puzzled, and asked about the song. This time, it wasn't June, it was an appropriate song for the time, but my sisters face and the giggles gave it away, he knew there was story there.  I had no escape,  they all looked at me, and asserted that I tell the story (you know, it being my story and all).

    My family then persisted, asking me to tell him the story. This back and forth yes and no continued on for a good ten minutes, and I was grasping to the hope that everyone would simply drop it and move on, but they didn't. They persisted.

    As they pleaded, my sister kept chiming in with “come on LB, Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree...”

    This scenario is a familiar one in my family, I call it, Dance Monkey Dance. If you share a good story, you will be made to share it time and again to newbies. If you do an impression, or something embarrassing in our presence, prepare to relive it. If you say no when asked, you will be badgered to the  point of eventually giving in, because my family is insanely persistent.

    After an eternity of them pleading and me saying no, the chatter got louder. All parties pleading,  my brother in law looking at me expectantly, so finally, with no strength left, I gave in to them. With no fight left, I belted out “FINE. When I was really little, I shit my pants in the woods when we were getting a Christmas Tree.”

    That did it. Everyone lost it, laughter, tears, it was pandemonium at the table. My sister, lovingly adding to it, proclaimed “you weren’t THAT young!”

    Burst of laughter hit again, and I sat there sour faced. My sister was breathless and crying, sitting next to her man who was belting out laughs I didn't know he was capable of having (he was known as painfully shy prior to this).

    “Hey LB,” my sister could barely form the words “what ever happened to that favourite pair of mickey mouse underwear you had?”

    With that my brother in law nearly fell off his seat laughing. I think that was the night he officially joined our family. My sister, dodged any attack from me and turned the tables in a surprising twist (she IS a Doctor after all). I, on the other hand, became the center of the family circus, and never lived it down.

    The following Christmas, I did the only rationale thing I could. I put on a snowsuit, bought a pair of mickey mouse underwear, stretched them over the snowsuit, and had my sister take a picture of me with a ridiculous grin on my face. I then put it in a nice frame, wrapped it up in Christmas paper, and gave it to him for Christmas. Who's idea was this? Why my sister's of-course.

    She is the genius, and for the most part, I get to benefit from this fact. However, she is a member of the family, so she is a super genius with excellent timing like our father, sometimes, this bites me in my mickey mouse wearing ass.