Schizer-Jest on the Corporate Express

FloatersComedy.com proudly presents…

Schizer-Jest on the Corporate Express

a short story by

Adrian Springer

      So I’m sitting at work and I realize that suddenly I’ve been thrust into an Agatha Christie novel. I’m playing the part of David Suchet playing the part of Hercule Poirot portraying the part of that guy in Executive Decision. The mystery to be solved, “Who shit themselves?”. Standard powers of deduction may not be enough to crack this case I’m afraid. The culprit in your average “Dump-In-The-Pants” scenario can be sussed out in one of two ways. Either by simply observing the look of shame on their face or by sniffing around while asking aloud, “Who shit their pants?” (Manually inducing the look of shame). Where this conundrum takes on a truly Christie-esque element is that this room is filled with professional carpet bombers.

      First, we must take into account the room itself. Roughly 23 meters wide by 9 meters deep whilst the ceiling is approximately 4 meters high. A gentle air current moves through the room from the south pushed by air vents in the floor spaced every 3 meters. Since the density of a fart is less than 1 atm at our elevation of 615 ft above sea level I would say it’s safe to infer that if a person were standing at any point in this room and defecated, we all would know.

to scale, bitches

      Second, we look at the suspects and the likelihood of committing such a crime. It’s not a question of motive as everyone needs to relieve themselves from time to time. It’s a question of who in the vicinity eats a diet balanced with protein, fiber, and baby food (because that is the only combination conceivable that would generate this smell). My company has supplied everyone with an Aeron desk chair by Herman Miller which employs both a deep reclining level as well as a mesh seating surface. This makes it very easy for the perpetrator to inaudibly eek a mound of human waste into their underpants. To truly know the miscreant is to know their dietary habits and their seated posture.

“Provides Perfect Posture and Positioning for Producing Pungent… farts”

      As I look around the room I begin crossing names off my list. She’s too proud and holds farts in until she has to waddle to the bathroom without releasing the mixture of gasses and rich liquid swirling in her bowels. Can’t be her. He has an inconsistent diet as, without a doubt, he’s the one who steals people’s food from the refrigerator. Sonofabitch. She’s old and her vapor lock diapers conceal the smell of the ass vomit trapped within. That guy stinks of cigarettes to the point that I’m nearly positive that he actually poops pure cancer, can’t be him. Who’s left? I guess one of the younger crowd could have made a smooth hit and run by my desk… No, they take too much pride in crop dusting me and would have not let my search go for this long. Mayhaps while I was buried in my work a visitor squeezed a turd nugglet into the air vent adjacent to my desk? The smell is particularly strong here. I think I’ll mobilize my investigation.

      The first stop is the manager’s desk. Though it’s expected that they uphold a certain sense of decorum I still can’t help but imagine one of them being struck by a sophomoric inclination to commit schizer-jest. The smell is no stronger here. I make my way across the room and spot my mortal enemy. Could it be? Let’s consider the facts. He eats like a goddamn pig, has the posture of a three-toed sloth, and I’m positive he would weaponize his own fecal matter, but what’s this? He’s carrying his backpack with him and just arriving. Early too, it’s not even 10:30 yet. Maybe I will sneak around the backside of the department and sniff out the wrongdoer with stealthy guile.

my mortal enemy

      Without a doubt the person responsible will suffer great humiliation at my hand as the smell is getting stronger. The end of my journey must be near. I slink down the back hallway in hot pursuit when I feel pins and needles in my feet. The strange sensation distracts me momentarily as I stomp my feet to entice the feeling back to my lower extremities. I look down at my feet and see that I have stepped in a small dropping whose source is obviously human. I’M CLOSE. The fury of trodding through shit is overcome by the excitement to expose the transgressor. Hastily, I burst through the door into the back of the office. My thunderous foot steps awaken the blood flow in my legs and the tingling dulls while I sniff wildly for the scofflaw.

      I round the corner to the break room and suddenly I think about why I have pins and needles in my lower half. I had recently started to recline my desk chair but felt the discomfort of the lumbar support cutting off circulation. Because I’ve slaved away at computers for years and filled so much of my spare time with online gaming I’ve taken to slumping down in my chair. This chair is the first to give me circulation problems triggering numbness from the waist down. Why until this very moment I couldn’t feel the warm squidgy feeling built up in OH MY GOD.