School Floor-Time Farts

Me, probably mid-fart.

I tell you, all that time on the classroom floor is a killer on your body, and boy did we ever spend a long time on the floor at school. From K to 4, we'd be down there for small group instruction time, reading time, easel time, project time, movie time, auditorium time, song time... any time they needed to call a "time." All that time, I'd just be looking up from under the tables and chairs and wondering how that vantage could've come to dominate my day, and, who stuck that gum up there? Seriously, what were they thinking by subjecting kids to this?

Anyways, you read the title right, so here it goes. Aside from the sheer uncomfortable yoga positioning they were forcing us to do on those rock hard carpets, spending so much time on the floor has its other follies such yoga stuff is known for. It also turns out that when you spend a lot of time hunched over sitting Indian-style, sprawled out, or bent over on a hard rug...etc., any disturbance or show of force when coming to a stand can cause unintentional and unexpected internal "shifts" (especially true after eating anything they served in the cafeteria). This knowledge comes from personal experience.

It was the 4th grade. I was ten. Probably around the same time as my other, far more impressive physical feat (man I was on a roll that year). The floor group thing was over and we were all to go back to sitting in our chairs like people. I forced myself up, and from out of you-know-where (and without even checking with me first), as if just to say "hi!"... out blurped this low and sputter-y "bluRRRp!" Yes. It was a real tumbler rumbler, a real beefer, a real bullfrog, a real... you know what? It was just a fart... not very loud, but just loud enough. I just froze. It was a pure "whoa!" kind of moment, and I didn't even know it was me for a half second. I did a mental damage report. All systems were go. Butt was a go. Jeans were a go. Awesomeness was... definitely a go! At least I could be thankful it was deployed from a half stand position because if I had been still firmly planted it probably would've launched me at least an inch into the air. "Houston, we have liftoff." But let's not exaggerate. I'm not taking Apollo 13-style liftoff, I'm talking more like Apollo 13-style explosion. "Houston, we have a problem..."

I wouldn't have thought much about it from there (well, I probably still would have...), but these two girls (who didn't like me much already) were sitting just a few feet behind me on the floor, and I tell you they had front row seats to that performance, both forced to weather the storm. One quickly remarked to the other, "ugh, Mark just farted." Now I didn't know if I should've been ashamed or extremely pleased, but I got to admit that one minute of embarrassment for 16 years of "ah! gotcha!" pride is pretty good in my book, even though it's always more of a deal breaker than an ice breaker. At least it's never a mystery why chicks break up with me.