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 The Meeting EnderPosted 11.13.2006 by Anomalous Coward (690)
I was in another inane meeting. Time had stopped.
Every other month, our department is subjected to a "brainstorming session." Theoretically, this gives everyone an opportunity to bounce new ideas around. But that theory actually died out with the dinosaurs. Contemporary brainstorming sessions are just used by AYMLAKs (Aggressive Young Midlevel Ass-Kissers) to grandstand in front of our senior manager. The featured AYMLAK of the day was busily embarrassing himself -- though he remained oblivious to the fact -- by citing bullshit statistics to make an invalid point about an irrelevant topic. After the first twenty minutes or so, my attention had wandered. I had noted food stains on another AYMLAK's tie and an amusing booger hanging halfway out a dozing upper level manager's schnozz. Next to me on the left was seated a man I'll call George. George had been with the company since time immemorial. He usually sat as impassive and immovable as the granite faces on Mt. Rushmore, wearing a thoughtful expression. While most people took this to be dignity and gravitas, the truth was that George was usually stoned out of his mind from the cough syrup he consumed in monumental quantities. But he never coughed; I suspect he imbibed to prevent a cough from sneaking up on him. Suddenly, with no prior warning, my mind was snatched away from contemplation of the booger by a harsh growl to my left. At first I thought someone had released a rabid Doberman in the room; but it had actually come from George. Under ordinary circumstances, George could sit with the best of them. But today he was buttdancing all over in his chair. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his mouth drawn into a tight line. Another loud growling gurgle emanated from his sizeable belly. Seeing George fidget in his seat was a novelty, and way more worthy of my attention than the booger. Intuition told me that ol' George was about to have an abdominal event of epic proportions. I slowly pushed my seat back away from him. A fart that sounded like a cross between a partially-occluded air horn and the grunt of a raped ape escaped his backdoor. The still yammering AYMLAK stopped in mid-babble. The room was as silent as a deserted library. A smell permeated the room. It had a heady bouquet to it, sort of like rotten meat mixed with skunk and marinated in liquid pigshit. Booger across the table sat bolt upright. In the uncomfortable silence, every eye was upon George. George was positively vibrating in the chair trying -- alas! in vain -- to stifle another blast from the trumpet that was sounding a desperate retreat. It screeched out of him like the cry of an enraged banshee. "I... ummm... seem to need... ummm... to go to..." With a grimace, another loud fart followed on the heels of some major gut gurgles. George lurched toward the door. George had provided an act that was impossible to follow. The room stank, the suits were looking queasy, and the rest of us were way too amused to sit still and discuss anything other than George. Later, George stopped by his office to grab his briefcase. His jacket was tied about his waist and he looked pale as a ghost. He beat a hasty retreat to the elevator. One of the guys said later that he never made it to the crapper before his gray slacks took on a brownish stain in the stern. All things considered, that was probably the most productive meeting I've ever been to. Post new comment
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