FART CORNER

FART CORNER

I worked in a small print t-shirt factory
when I was thirty. The owner, who didn’t
do any work, would drop in several times
a day just to try and catch us slacking.

There were four other girls and one dude.
Sue was nearly 50, the oldest, and in charge. The pay was horrid but my co-workers were very down to earth cool.

The first day was safety videos and a
walkthrough before I started my job of
folding. Others ran the screen printer
and loaded the ink. James moved boxes.

Five minutes into the walkthrough, Sue
pointed to a corner and stated, “That is our fart spot. Fart there and nowhere
else.” I laughed. But Sue was serious!

“Ok,” I agreed. All that was in the corner
was a small wastebasket and defective
boxes. I was put to work. Janet was the
first girl I saw go into the fart corner.

Over the course of several hours, all
of them used the fart corner…finally
me. It stunk so bad. OMG! I passed my
gas quickly and went back to my table.

There was a taco shop next door. They
all got food from it. There were many
more visits to the corner for all of us.
I nearly vomited twice. Phew! Phew!

After a few weeks, I got used to it. I
knew whose farts were the worst and who I should fart after to not puke.
Strange since we all ate the cheap tacos.

James was lucky as he drove the
forklift and loaded trucks and could
release his gas outside. Mary, was pregnant and her farts were the worst.

The owner walked in one afternoon
and caught Janet giving James a BJ.
He fired us all. Before leaving, I dropped
a taco bomb in the owner’s mustang.