Shart Support

At this time in my life I was working Technical Support over the phone for H&R Block. I hadn’t yet gotten to the point with my Crohn’s disease to be full-on pooping my pants. However, I was perpetually on the brink of shatting myself on a fairly regular basis.

To protect my underpants I usually wore one of my wife’s feminine pads. But on this day I had forgotten to wear one. I was sitting at my semi-cubicle and like usual I had to pass some gas.

I don’t ever hold in my flatulence. I have enough intestinal discomfort naturally, I don’t need to add to it by trying to be polite. So I farted, as per usual.

And I shat my pants; as happens on occasion.  It would normally be fine. I just would go clean up in the bathroom and put in a fresh pad.  On occasion some mess gets outside the pad. In those cases, I would either just get another pair of clothes from my car, or just try to clean up as much as possible and then just stuff a bunch of paper towels in my pants. You know, like most people do.

But this time there was a lot of intestinal mucus mixed in. By the way, a Crohn’s shart is mostly intestinal mucus that smells like poop. This time there was enough that it went all the way through my underwear, pants, and into the call center’s padded chair they provided me.

So I called my supervisor over to let him know what happened and I ask what we should do. I figured they would clean the chair or something but he just wheeled it outside and tossed it in the dumpster.

That’s the whole story. I shat my pants, it leaked all the way into my chair, and they threw it away.

Epilogue

Later on, in that same company I was promoted into workforce management. I was charged with giving an introduction to the new hire classes about our department. For an icebreaker I would ask for everybody’s most embarrassing (work appropriate) story. I frequently set the bar high by telling this one.  

It seemed like a good choice, since I had never met any of these people before and I was supposed to make a good impression for the company. But let me tell you, on occasion one of these brand new employees would tell something even more embarrassing than I to this group of people they just met, and their new manager. And they were my heroes.

Waiting on a River

My mom had told me a couple times that I would probably be a great waiter.

One day I finally decided to go for it.

There’s this restaurant in my hometown called Fratellos. It’s like one of the best restaurants in town. It’s not super fancy compared to bigger city standards but in a town of like 62,000 people it counts as a fancypants restaurant.

I went there, applied, and went through all that stuff. Eventually they called me for an interview.  It was unlikely for me to get an interview since I had no waiting experience. However, the river still had plenty of ice chunks flowing through it, and therefore they must have been real low on staff . They were likely scraping the barrel of my medium-sized hometown. But they happened to scrape out just what they were looking for. I knew that I would make a great waiter. I was good at memorizing things and I was real friendly with people. I’m also good at catching things that fall.

Here’s a little background about the place: Fratellos was a restaurant that you could get to by car or by boat. (I guess by foot has well, obviously.) So they had docks and you could park your boat and come up to the restaurant or have them serve you on your boat. Pretty fancy.

During the interview things were going pretty well. We were sitting at a table with a view of the river. She was dressed real nice and professional-like. The kind of person you don’t want to ask stupid questions to.

At the end of the interview the interviewer asked me if I had any questions. Now, I have been told that it’s always good to have questions for an interview. However she already answered everything that I was wondering about so I didn’t have any questions left.

But, I assumed that it was  better to ask any question then no questions at all. I had been gazing at the chunks of ice flowing down the river while the lady was talking, and I began to wonder.

I asked, does this river ever change direction in flow?

She looked up at me.

Because I think I remember it flowing a different direction another time that I saw it.

She looked back at my resume’

I was beginning to realize that my question was irrelevant. But I did want to know.

“So I’m just wondering if the flow of the river ever changes directions like with the seasons or something?”

She stared out the window for a few seconds, and said she didn’t know. And asked if I had any other questions.

I didn’t.

And I did not get that job.

I still wonder though, about that river. And I bet she does too. Actually, I don’t think rivers ever change direction. Why would that even happen?