For a long time now, I've been aware that deep down inside, I harbor the spirit of an evil genius. Fortunately, my better nature (as well as my lovely wife) keeps me in line, so this part of me is not allowed to flourish and bloom into a full blown super villain. This is probably a good thing, what with the career path of the average super villain ending in imprisonment, commitment to a mental institution or early retirement via death. This aspect of my personality, however, does allow me to truly appreciate a dastardly deed when I see one, or as the case was yesterday, actually fall victim to one.
After skipping lunch due to illness, I packed up my loot promptly a five, figuring I'd beat the family home and prepare dinner. I get my stuff together, and began walking for the exit commonly used by those in my area of the building. As I approach, I notice the person ahead of me pick up his pace substantially prior to hitting the door.
About twenty feet from the door, I realize why. Someone had left a vapor trail of funk, deftly covering a full area leading up to the exit of the building. Realizing that I was now walking in the wake of someone else's flatulence, I inhaled once and then held it in an effort to avoid breathing in any more of their odoriferous particulates than I had to.
Here's what separates this from the standard office crop dusting and elevates the perpetrator to the pantheon of evil genius. As I'm resisting the urge to breathe, I realize that walking a few paces behind me is a girl from another department who is also heading out for the day. Upon realizing this, it struck me that not only was I being forced to walk through the bakery of someone else's air biscuits, but that the stranger behind me would almost definitely associate this offense with me. This would be the one thing this person would think they knew about me - that I'm the type of person that eeks out noxiousness while walking through office halls. Not cool.
Therein lies the genius of it. By making sure that the storm was near the exit, they not only guaranteed that a maximum number of people would be forced to walk through the eye of it, they set up a ripple effect that each person would be concerned that the person behind would attribute it to them. Thus, a single SBD becomes a chain reaction of paranoia and discomfort (not to mention the occasional retching - it was vile). Brilliant.
I'll probably never know who the real perpetrator was, but I assume that he'll be hearing from the recruiters of the Evil League of Evil in the near future.
After skipping lunch due to illness, I packed up my loot promptly a five, figuring I'd beat the family home and prepare dinner. I get my stuff together, and began walking for the exit commonly used by those in my area of the building. As I approach, I notice the person ahead of me pick up his pace substantially prior to hitting the door.
About twenty feet from the door, I realize why. Someone had left a vapor trail of funk, deftly covering a full area leading up to the exit of the building. Realizing that I was now walking in the wake of someone else's flatulence, I inhaled once and then held it in an effort to avoid breathing in any more of their odoriferous particulates than I had to.
Here's what separates this from the standard office crop dusting and elevates the perpetrator to the pantheon of evil genius. As I'm resisting the urge to breathe, I realize that walking a few paces behind me is a girl from another department who is also heading out for the day. Upon realizing this, it struck me that not only was I being forced to walk through the bakery of someone else's air biscuits, but that the stranger behind me would almost definitely associate this offense with me. This would be the one thing this person would think they knew about me - that I'm the type of person that eeks out noxiousness while walking through office halls. Not cool.
Therein lies the genius of it. By making sure that the storm was near the exit, they not only guaranteed that a maximum number of people would be forced to walk through the eye of it, they set up a ripple effect that each person would be concerned that the person behind would attribute it to them. Thus, a single SBD becomes a chain reaction of paranoia and discomfort (not to mention the occasional retching - it was vile). Brilliant.
I'll probably never know who the real perpetrator was, but I assume that he'll be hearing from the recruiters of the Evil League of Evil in the near future.
1 comment:
Probably the only thing worse than getting caught laying a phantom turd is being accused of laying one that doesn't belong to you.
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