The Vent People

Posted on May 11, 2009

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IT WAS NICE to have a private bathroom, as I was completely unable to relieve myself in the presence of another human being or animal. I decided to relieve my mind of thought watching and pulled myself into the bathroom where I locked the door and placed a thick magazine under the bottom gap of the door so as to act as a stopper. The toilet seat was cold and flat with the words “AMERICAN STANDARD” on the section of enamel where your legs part.
I could hear sounds from a vent in the corner of the bathroom, other people talking in their new dorm rooms. As I sat there I did my best to avoid making a bowl-fart and yet the pressure was there and my body blew a hot pocket into the dome of the toilet and let forth a terrible sound that seemed to echo off the water. I gasped, and was horrified when all of a sudden the voices from the vent stopped. Surely this was just a coincidence; no. What I heard next from the vent was an audience of laughter, cluttering its way up the vents and into my bathroom. The embarrassment was so mortifying that my bowel muscles again relaxed and let forth an even louder bowl-fart. This in turn brought upon more laughter and created a kind of involuntary conversation between my body and the vent people as I sat in conscious horror. In the end I was unable finish the task at hand, despite my comedic efforts upon the bowl.
I flushed the toilet out of habit and left the bathroom. It was terrible knowing that students on the floors below and above me would probably gather round the vents every day to listen to the bowl-farting guy. I stroked my face, as if I had a big Russian beard and then sat cross-legged on my cot. I could feel the wire springs firmly under my ass, but I didn’t mind. I straightened my back and closed my eyes. I decided that it was a good time to meditate.

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Posted in: May 2009