Either I’m losing my hearing, or my immaturity has reached new lows.
I’m at National Airport in DC, getting ready to head to Chicago to work for the week. When I went through security, I was pulled aside to have a wand thrust into my backpack to check for chemicals. I guess this is what happens when terrorists try to ignite their crotches: my bag stuffed with Jelly Bellies suddenly seems threatening. Or maybe they thought I was mentally challenged drug smuggler who had hundreds of tablets stuffed in a baggie in plain sight.
In any event, when she finished rifling through my backpack (which is new and has eleven distinct compartments she had to search – awesome!), she told me to have a nice flight. Except, for whatever reason, that’s not what I heard. Instead, I did a double-take, because I thought she said:
Have a nice fart.
I shook my head, realized the error was on my end, and moved on.
Yet here I am, thirty minutes later, sitting by my gate, waiting to board, and I hear the following gate announcement:
Now paging, Rolling Fart. Rolling Fart, please make your way to gate 34.
Clearly, that’s NOT what they’re saying. But it sure sounds like it. Enough so that I found myself walking around to see the monitor so I could read the last name of the person who had been cleared off the wait list. There it was: “R. Fark.”
I can only assume the guy’s first name was Rolland, and you have to admit that Rolland Fark could easily sounds like Rolling Fart. Please give me that.
Otherwise, I’m going to climb back on the bus and wait for recess.
pithypants 
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