The Art of the Shart
High school can be a traumatizing experience for some people, especially those who are easily ridiculed. All it takes is one embarrassing moment and you’re labeled until you graduate. Sometimes even longer.
Once when I was in elementary school, I sneezed and an enormous ball of snot shot out of my nose and landed on my desk with a very audible *splat!* From then on, I was known as “Germy” Jeremy. Most kids just called me Germy for short. It took years to shake that nickname. In retrospect, I’m grateful for the grade school teasing I received, because I learned to be quick with the comebacks. Over time I developed a razor sharp wit, which I’m convinced is what led to my career as a stand-up comedian. My only regret is that the ball of snot wasn’t bigger and didn’t land on the teacher’s desk. That would have been epic.
Fast-forward about ten years. By the time I was a junior in high school, I was pretty popular due to my use of humor in the classroom, my participation in sports, and my willingness to make an ass out of myself anytime for the sheer entertainment value of my fellow students. And much to the dismay of school faculty, I behaved like a caveman, belching loudly and taking pleasure in evacuating the lunch room with a well-timed “Silent-But-Deadly” fart. In other words, I was a typical teenage boy.
However, karma is a real bitch sometimes. Sitting with some friends at lunch one day, I decided to rip another S.B.D. But I pushed a little too hard, and well, I’m sure you can figure out what happened. I became a victim of the dreaded “shart.” The smell quickly evacuated most of the people sitting at that particular table. Which was lucky, because that also happened to be the day that I decided to wear my new white Levi’s. Anyway, obviously it was going to be visible to everyone left at the table what I had done. It ran all the way down to my sock. Thankfully the jeans were tapered-leg (Remember that horrible style?), holding in the mess. And in my shock, I hadn’t yet taken responsibility for the ass-bomb currently terrorizing teenage nasal passages.
I needed to think quickly, though, or would be forever remembered as the guy in eleventh grade who shit his pants.
First, I identified the ingredients of the stench (eggs) and focused blame on my buddy across the table, who I revealed had eaten an omelet that morning for breakfast. Then I sat there in complete discomfort and casually finished my lunch while planning my escape. Looking down, the brown-ness was visible on the outside of my jeans and slowly inching forward to my crotch and thigh area. Noticing my half-full carton of chocolate milk, my escape plan began to formulate.
I distracted my friends with a smart-ass remark aimed at one of the lunch room workers. While their heads were turning back towards me, I “accidentally” dumped the rest of the chocolate milk in my lap, and began cursing. Leaving my tray behind, I ran out the side door of the cafeteria and took off for my house, which was only two blocks away. I quickly showered, changed my clothes, and disposed of the evidence in the woods behind our yard.
I was late getting to my next class, which was Advanced Drawing and Painting, but luckily the art teacher was a stoner and didn’t even notice.