The Easy Go Bar

My name is Jared Jamison. My grandfather always told me my name reminded him of some big-shot lawyer. That’s why when it was time to pick out a career, I used the money he left me and went to the “Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law” at Arizona State University.  My major is in Patent Law. And just so you know, patent law specifies the subject matter to obtain patentability. After years of grueling study, I recently passed the Bar Exam. Yahoo! I have sent out several resumes, and today I received a request for an interview. The firm is called Benson-Benson and Stack. And yes, Grandpa, it is a big-shot firm.

                                                           …

Trembling with excitement, I lay my clothes out on the bed. As I study the ties, my roommate Ben walks in.

“What ya do’in there, buddy?”

With a tie in each hand, I raise and lower them, trying to decide. “I’m trying to pick a tie to match the suit.” 

Ben walks over to the bed and feels the jacket’s fabric. “Say, this feels pretty nice! Did you have it made?”

 Rolling my eyes, I nod. “Yeah, I did, and it also left quite a hole in my bank account! Still, I want to look the part, you know?” 

Ben lifts the suit from the bed. “It looks great! I can’t wait to see it on. What color is it? Navy blue or Black?”

“Navy blue.”

“Well, in that case, I’d go with the power tie, the red one!”  

 Squinting my eyes, I rub my chin. “Hmm, I don’t know. “ It’s not too strong of a statement for a first interview, is it?”

“Nah! It will be fine,” Ben says with a wave of his hand. “After all, I have a degree in interior decorating!” We both laugh. The fun is cut short as a cramp causes me to wince in pain.

“Something wrong?” asks Ben. 

Rubbing my side, I force a grin. “No, no. It’s nothing.” 

Frowning, Ben scratches his cheek. “Really? Because from the look on your face, it didn’t look like nothing.”  

Blushing, I stammer, “W-Well, it’s this way. When I get nervous, I get constipated. And having anticipated this interview, I have been constipated for the last three days now.”

As Ben leaves the room, he calls over his shoulder,  “Hold on a moment. I’ve got just the thing.” Returning, Ben hands me a slim bar that says on the wrapper, “Go Easy Bar.” Grinning from ear to ear, Ben tells me it’s the latest thing in laxatives. “It’s way better than Exlax. It’s not as harsh. Something about the ingredients lets it work real slow without any cramping. Still, it gets the job done if you know what I mean.”

 Lifting my eyebrow, I smirk, “Yeah, I know what you mean. Thanks, I’ll give it a try.”

I finally decide that Ben’s right and go with the red tie. When I finish combing my hair and brushing my teeth, I remember the “Go” bar. I unwrap the bar and take a bite. Instead of one square, I accidentally chew two. “Oh, well,” I figure, “They are so tiny, and Ben said they take time to work. I’m probably alright.” The wrapper catches my eye while I check my teeth one last time. It reads, “Take with water.”  It doesn’t say how much, so I figure I ate two, so I’d better drink two glasses. That makes sense. After drinking the water, I check my watch. It’s time to go. I grab my portfolio and wish myself good luck in the bathroom mirror.

I walk to the corner of Grant Street and grab the Sun shuttle headed to Broadway.  We bounce up and down as we travel over some road work. I feel a little something in my belly gurgle. Glancing to one side and frowning, I put it out of my mind. The shuttle drops me off in front of an office building.  Just inside the lobby is a directory that, when I study it, reads that the law office I seek is on the third floor.  I push the elevator up button and then another eruption takes place. Before I can think about, it the elevator doors swoosh open and I step inside. I smile at the other occupant and push the number three on the panel. Stepping back, I adjust my tie and clear my throat. I can feel a line of moisture forming along my hairline and pray, “OH, God!  Not now!” 

The stranger looks at me, “Hey, buddy, are you okay? You look a little peaked, ya know?”  I reassure him I’m fine. “It’s just a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?” He stares at me in return. 

I began to think, “I hope there is a bathroom on this floor.” I look at my watch and see I have about ten minutes to spare. “Oh, please, let it be so! I’ll be alright if there is a men’s room! Please!”  The elevator door seems to open at a snail's pace.  Open at last,I virtually leap into the hallway, my head spinning this way and that. Yes! There it is, sticking out from the wall a little sign that reads “Mens.” With my buttcheeks squeezed tightly together, I shuffle quickly down the hall, stopping occasionally to let the pressure pass. I finally enter the little alcove only to read, “OUT OF SERVICE. Thank you.” Nearly weeping, I bang on the wall, “NO! No, no, no!” All this added pressure doesn’t help as I feel a frightening event start to unfold at my backside. My eyes close tightly, and I clench my teeth. I feel a rush of gaseous air escapes my body.  I feel better! Thank God!

“Was that it? Was I just full of gas all this time?” I chuckle the chuckle of relief. I take my hanky from my inside pocket and wet it at the water cooler. I mop my face and neck to freshen up a bit. “There! Time to keep that appointment.” Straightening my tie, I bravely march off to Benson-Benson and Stack.

I enter the law office, and the receptionist greets me. She is wearing drill curls like some character from an anime. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?” she smiles. “Yes, my name is Jared Jamison, and I have a one o’clock appointment.” She checks her appointment book and then asks me to have a seat. “I’ll inform Mrs. Patterson that you’ve arrived.”

I look to the waiting area and see I am the only one there. Taking a seat, I place my portfolio on the coffee table. The young girl reappears shortly, “Mrs. Patterson will see you now.” 

As I rise from my chair, I feel a little poof of gas escape. At first I’m glad it is soundless until I get a whiff. “Oh, no!” I think, “It’s a silent but deadly!” Smiling, I hold up one finger and turn around, facing the chair. I make a big production out of opening my portfolio, waving it this way and that before facing the receptionist again.  Eyes wide and showing way too many teeth, I explain, “Just making sure I have everything.” I quickly rush past her. Standing by the closed door, I still hear her say, “Oh. Good God!” Then I hear her gag.  A deep furrow appears on Mrs. Patterson’s forehead as she glares at the door. It’s as if she is trying to see through it into the waiting area to see what’s happening.  Meanwhile, I’m standing there with a half-ass grin on my face.

Mrs. Patterson stands and offers me her hand. “Mr. Jamison. I’m Mrs. Patterson, and I’d like to thank you for coming in today. Please be seated.”  Anxiously, I lower myself into the chair with an uncertain feeling in my stomach. I pray, “Please, please let this pass. If I fart now, it will be game over.”  Mrs. Patterson is very professional and polite as she reviews my resume and scans my portfolio. All the while, I’m fidgeting in my chair. I cross and uncross my legs, straighten my tie, and loosen my collar. I can feel little rivulets of sweat run down behind my ears. I’m sure my face looks pinched instead of the look of confidence I’m trying to project. At one point, I am clenching so hard I swear I feel a molar crack! Then it happens, a loud grumble that causes Mrs. Patterson to pause. “Are you alright, Mr Jamison? Are you feeling unwell perhaps?”

Eyes squinting slightly, I manage, “No, no, I’m fine, really I am. It’s just that I was a bit nervous this morning and didn’t have any breakfast. I apologize for the noise.” Raising her eyebrow, she taps the paperwork on the desk, “I understand. I think we’re done for now. I’ll give your resume and my report to my superiors, and you should hear from us in about a week or so.”  We stand to shake hands. “By the way, I do like your suit. It’s very becoming.” Grinning like a baboon I thank her, all the while backing toward the office door in case there is a wet spot on the seat of my pants. “Thank you for your time,” I say as I leave her office. 

The receptionist doesn’t say a word to me.  She gives me a disgusted look, but I don’t care because I need to find a toilet quickly! I know this one is out of order, so I glance at the elevator and see it is on the ground floor. No time! I race to the stairwell and head for the second floor. I find all the stalls are full in the men’s room. I bang on the first door and scream, “I’ve got to get in there now!” The poor man barely gets past me when I rush in and slam the door. Suddenly, the most disgusting, smelly, sloppy swishing noise erupts, and everyone in the room groans loudly and races out. With my head resting against the stall wall, I sigh a sigh of relief.

Five days later, I receive word that I got the job, no thanks to the Easy Go Bar!