Better Out Than In

Ever since Dear Jeremy quit his job at the Guardian, I’ve missed the useful window into the worklives of others.

Thankfully, Slate now brings us Good Job to fill that gap. People write in with their job complaints and their agony aunt responds. It makes me feel glad to no longer have a jay-oh-bee.

This week, a correspondant tells the world about their colleague’s farting:

I have a co-worker who has terrible flatulence. He is an absolute misery to be around as a result.

He comes through our floor at least three or four times a day and afterward, the place stinks like a broken septic tank. The rub is that he’s also the head of our department and twice a week our team is required to meet with him to give updates on productivity and other things. These meetings usually are around an hour long, and by the time they are over I’m nearly sick. My other colleagues are similarly at the end of their ropes.

Oh baby. I used to sit next to an office farter. It was all too much. I sympethise with the letter writer.

At the same time, I’m not without sympathy for the farter. Someone wrote to New Escapologist once (hello!) to say that having to hold in your gas all day is something to hate about office jobs. So maybe the farter is also an Escapologist; maybe they want out too. And, as the wisdom goes, “better out than in.”

Sorry. Any future excerpts from this work advice column will be more Escapological and less, um, enterological.

That said, if you’re not too queasy for another worplace methane anecdote, here’s a passage I cut from The Good Life for Wage Slaves on grounds of good taste:

A patronising and overfamiliar IT guy with too much testosterone sauntered into our department one day for his usual unwanted chit chat. He sniffed the air and said “who’s got something tasty for lunch? Something garlicky?” Nobody had anything out for lunch. He’d smelled one of my farts. And liked it.

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New Escapologist Issue 17 is out now.