I Swear, It’s Not Me


t’s embarrasing when someone thinks you cut a fart… guilty or not. *sigh* Every morning, I find myself rushing to catch up on things. The alarm goes off–or M nudges me to wake up–and it takes me 15 to 20 minutes to get me to stir out of bed. I trudge on over to the computer, turn it on, go take my morning leak as the computer boots up, and then I plop myself at my desk. What day is it today, and what do I have to do? My schedule pops up and it tells me I have class. No shit, I mumble to myself and start to get together the things I need for work… when it suddenly strikes me. Oh shit! I forgot…

  • To make the bungo quiz… or
  • To grade the last stack of papers… or
  • To go over my notes for class… or
  • To make a hand out for today’s lecture… or
  • That there was a meeting today… or

…any number of other things. Everyday it is something. Everyday there is some kind of mini-crisis waiting for me in the recesses of my mind. And my response is to shift gears and go full throttle. After a cup of Joe,

  1. I work on whatever it is I have to work on,
  2. Freak out when the clock tells me I have about an hour left before class,
  3. Jump into the shower,
  4. Change into something appropriate,
  5. Stuff the appropriate things–book, folders, binders–into my backpack and
  6. Rush off to work.

Unfortunately, I’m usually running behind the clock, so even though I live only a seven minute walk from the station, M will give me a ride. I literally make the train with seconds to spare–almost every day, I am embarrassed to say. I step into the train and the door closes before I can even sit down sometimes. Laugh all you want. Make fun of me if you will. Hell, I’d make fun of myself too, if I wasn’t always in a rush. I almost feel like Dagwood Bumstead rushing out of the house every morning, but that’s probably too old a reference for most of you to grasp.

Anyway, today was no different. I sit in the car as M takes me on my two minute ride.

“Tuna sandwich,” I say.


“Tuna sandwich. That’s what you made me for lunch, right?” Yes, I’m a lucky guy. M makes me lunch everyday. Sometimes it’s riceballs, other times a box lunch of stir-fry. But not today. “It smells like a tuna sandwich,” I say pointing to my backpack.

M smiles. “It must be the onions.” Then she starts to giggle. “I smelled the same thing too, but I thought you’d farted.”

“What? You thought the onions you put into a sandwich was a fart?!?”

M bursts out laughing. Indeed, she is beside herself as I was getting out of the car. “Be sure to sit away from others, in an out-of-the-way spot.”

What a loving wife… I wish I’d had a sign that said I was carrying a sandwich with lots of onions in it. Instead, I had to hope that the other passengers could tell the difference between the smell of onions and a fart.

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