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.