Gas

So, one of my clients farted at work today. And this is not an odd occurrence. It happens almost daily, as with people rolling around, hanging upside down and moving muscles they don’t normally, gas escapes. And because I am mature, I at least turn away as I suppress my laughter.

Because honestly, farting is hilarious, and the great equalizer. Everyone does it, some with more verve than others, but at the end of the day, it happens. I have some clients with whom, when they let loose, I can say something like “Wow, that was at LEAST a six on a scale of one to ten!” and we laugh it off. Some blush and say “OH MY GOD EXCUSE ME!” to which I reply “Happens all of the time, no worries.” I’ve found in my years of teaching Pilates that it’s best to address it in some benign way and move on. And don’t mind me if I excuse myself into the bathroom to have a hearty laugh…I’ll be back shortly.

But the worst is when people ignore it. Which, let’s be honest, would probably be the most polite thing to do, but then the fart hangs there, noticeable, calling for a mention, mocking you as you bite your tongue in an effort not to say something totally inappropriate like “IF YOU’RE SICK, GO TO THE HOSPITAL.”

And so today, I had one of my terribly elegant clients, a woman of some age and social status in a difficult position, and while she was holding it, concentrating on her abs, she let one fly. And not only was it audible, it was loud, and LONG. Something like this:

“FFFFFFFFRRRRrrrrrrrrrrpppppppppppT!”

Even Kylie woke from her nap, her ears perking up as though to say “Jesus woman! Pipe DOWN!” She then left her dog bed and moved away as the accompanying smell rose up and out. And I thought “Surely, she will say something, because I cannot” but she didn’t. She came down from her position and moved to the next one, the air around me dense with the sudden stench, my nostrils on fire.

I didn’t know what to do. I actually had to step away from the reformer and get some air before going back in. It was, as Marc calls it, sticky, an unrelenting smell that I was afraid would cling to my clothes for the rest of the day. It made the rest of the hour awkward as I both coughed away my suppressed laughter and prayed that whatever was brewing inside of her wouldn’t come out swinging for a second round as I might die from olfactory overload.

As she left and I was cleaning the equipment, waiting for my next client, I thought “You know, I’ll bet CPA’s never have to deal with this…they don’t have to light candles and waft the air around so that the next person who comes into their office doesn’t think ‘SWEET GOD, WHAT DIED?’ or 'DID YOU JUST SHIT YOURSELF?'” And yet in my professional career, I can put down as a skill, “Deals well with flatulence.”

I need a raise.