Crop Dusting

Working in a fast paced environment at Greene's Ale House has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I've met a great deal of interesting people, some of which have become life long friends, I hope. The financial benefits have been excellent as well. They've afforded me the opportunity to pay back my student loans, purchase an automobile, and most recently, save for the down payment on my new home that I bought last Spring.

However, not every aspect of my job has been entirely fruitful. The dedication to my work has caused one aspect of my life to deteriorate at times. I'm referring to my diet. I admit that it's my fault what I put into my body. It seems like I subsist primarily on chicken wings and beer. And I do love a nice rare steak at least once a week.

My problem stems from my eating habits while I'm on the clock. Being a bartender, I don't have a set lunch break. Depending on each individual day, I eat whatever I can, whenever I can. It tends to be something fried because its quick, and I usually chase it with a carbonated soft drink. And because of my drive to get right back to my generous clientele, I have a tendency to wolf down my vittles quite rapidly. That can create a recipe for disaster.

Digestion is best served by consuming food at a casual pace, chewing each bite thoroughly. Because I ignore these directions, combined with the food I choose to nourish myself with, often, the result is GAS!! Although my shit doesn't stink, I understand that many others are not as fortunate as I. Therefore, I offer the solution of "crop dusting".

The art of crop dusting can be very challenging. If you are unaware of the practice of crop dusting, allow me to give a quick explanation. When ever you feel a fart creeping up on you, just start walking as you let her rip. The key is to keep the sound to an absolute minimum. I personally recommend letting off what I like to call a couple of testers. Take a step back from those around you and see what you have to work with. If there's minimal to no scent, then by all means, tear it up and let 'em go as needed.

If you detect noxious fumes, chances are the people around you will as well. And we all know that our own "cheese" never smells as bad as others. So take that into consideration when you are "rating" the aroma. If the stink coming out of your "big brown eye" leaves a lot to be desired, the key to passing the blame to someone else is to keep moving. In my case that's easy. I just have to appear to be leaving the scene of the crime to wait on another customer. What I've left behind could have come from anybody, right?

It's important not to jump the gun too. Let those left down wind to be the first to cast an accusation. But don't be scared to jump in on the action. I recommend waiting until at least the 3rd "air biscuit" has been launched. That way you can't be saddled with "the one who dealt it, smelt it first". Put on a good face, you know, like it wasn't really you who unleashed the fury. Then, pick out the weakest person who's near by and point the finger at them.

So far, I'm still batting a thousand at work. It's never been confirmed that I've been the guilty party breaking wind. I do have to come clean though. I've had my fair share of close calls, and I'm not talking about the smell. I've had a couple of near misses when I've been behind the bar. Allow me to share an example with you.

About ten years ago I had the pleasure of working a busy Friday day shift at Greene's. Just as the crowd was beginning to pick up around happy hour, I let a really nice, hot and wet fart go. I was sure that I had just shit myself because of the heat that accompanied this particular silent, but deadly blast. And to make matters worse, I was clad in a pair of light tan pants. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. Just before the stench was about to hit the crowd, I faked that a keg had kicked so I would have to go and change it. I went out back and grabbed some paper towels assuming that something besides the keg needed changing. To my delight, and much to my surprise, I had not greased my drawers. I really dodged a bullet.

Although that's just one instance where I've almost sharted, I'm proud to say that I've never gambled and lost. I will also understand any strange looks from you in the future when you walk into the bar while I'm working. And the next time one of you says that my service stinks, I won't take any offense. Sniff, sniff. Will you?