Co-Worker Profile #1: Derry

Derry held a position of great importance in the office.

Derry was known for several things, but most of all he was known for farting with impunity.

Because Derry wore expensive suits and good Italian shoes, it was somehow perceived to be morally permissible for Derry to lift up his leg and let one rip in mid-sentence, and in any quarter of the office.

Derry's farts were not timid, womanly farts.

He did not try to hide his flatulence under a bushel (or a chair).

Derry's farts, it was said, had character.

Derry's farts were really an extension of his masculinity. Often, they sounded like dogs barking. Sometimes a Doberman pinscher's minatory growl, or at other times a rather ruffian Schnauzer who felt himself superior to his actual size.

Rarely would Derry come out with a chihuahua fart. If he did, he might smile sheepishly. But I repeat, that was a very rare occurrence.

This trait had been known to frighten workers under Derry, who were known to physically jump a foot or more when suddenly alarmed by Derry's ass-ventriloquism near their workspace. Derry could creep up on a desk or a cubicle. When one would look up, he would be scanning some important document, seemingly oblivious of the noxious fumes he had just ejected with the formidable shining, athletic tone of a Marine Band trumpet.

I am convinced that the oblivious act had to be just that. At least some of the time.

I repeat. Derry's farts had character.

They were perceived to be ample evidence of the furious combustion going on at all levels, from cerebral to digestive, within this powerful little man in the quality suit and the stand-out shoes.

He made no apology ever, and it was deemed infradig to acknowledge the fact that Derry was farting while he was asking you something that concerned your little island of specialized knowledge in the company.

Sometimes he would use the farts almost as punctuation while he was talking, or as a form of italicizing or emphasizing certain key points.

"I told you (fart) that we were to have them delivered by Tuesday (stronger fart). If there was going to be a problem (irritated fart) it should have been brought up Friday (sarcastic fart) not Wednesday, when we failed to make the deadline and they're getting the goddamn shipment free because we didn't adhere to the contractual (emphatic fart) guidelines (bitch-slap fart)."

This can be a powerful way of controlling other people.

Derry's farts could herd wayward employees the way sheepdogs herd sheep.

Because Derry was only five feet, four inches tall he was particularly brutal with other male workers.

He usually left the office door open when he was metaphorically bending some airheaded office boy almost a foot taller than himself over a metaphorical chair and reaming him.

I suppose Derry's farts could be seen as a form of territorial pissing, and as an insult that said "I am the Magilla Gorilla here. Not you. Me."

In fact that sounds exactly like something Derry would say.

I sometimes imagine Derry's funeral and see him laid out in the coffin in his last quality suit.

I imagine how strange it will be not to hear the noxious effluvia of power asserting itself. To see the trumpet laid low. Finally muted.

I can't help but imagine (and hope) that as the mourners are seated in their chairs and reverently tuning out a stupid homily intoned by some "pray for pay" man, that Derry will let out one long, last exhalation of triumph over the grave.

Just to let Valhalla know to crack a window or two.

Because this little Caesar is on his way.