Have you ever noticed that there are unspoken rules in society? Like, no skateboarding on the front lawn of the Empress Hotel in downtown Victoria. You don’t really need to put a sign up. Society just kind of intuitively realizes that when there are hedges that are 20 feet high with not a blade of grass out of place, chances are there is something that you shouldn’t be doing or be touching for that matter.
My roommate from China once informed me that one of the unspoken rules in China is that if there is a patch of grass you are just forbidden to walk on it. I think it has something to do with the fact that there are so few pieces of green space and lots of people to quickly trample it.
I work in a place where there are such unspoken rules. Not about the grass mind you.
Perhaps it is chalked up to that it is the original Mayor’s house of our little community from when the town was first started in the early 1900’s. Perhaps it is the folk lore of the ghost that lives in the women’s washroom. Perhaps it is the wainscoting, the cherry stained woods used throughout the décor, the chandeliers that remind of past high society events, or the creaking of the floor boards. But the overall ambience of such an atmosphere creates a certain sense of untold propriety.
I truly don’t work in an office. I work in a communal home of small businesses. Prime example, I ran up the stairs up to the third floor one day and the front receptionist chastised me by saying, “No running in the house.” Granted we’re good friends and this was a joke, but everyone else sort of follows this unspoken rule and then it was spoken into reality when she said that. It hit me, no one else runs. Hence, I should probably follow their unspoken rules even though I don’t feel like it.
But what I realized yesterday is that these rules are all made up by the individual’s perception of what is proper. Everyone else thinks it improper to run but will do other improper things in my mind, like the unspoken smoker in the downstairs washroom – Nancy Drew is still trying to figure the pieces out to that one. Perhaps it was the ghost. Wait – wrong bathroom.
Yesterday I wasn’t feeling that great and I out of no where let out a horrible sound. My coworker next to me heard it, and I knew she had heard it. My face had distorted in discomfort, more from complete embarrassment than anything else. My boss didn’t hear the sound obviously but she saw the contorted facial expression that went along with it.
My coworker murmured under her breath, “It’s alright Kels, nothing to be embarrassed about.” My boss on the other hand started laughing and asked, “what was that face all about.
I sheepishly paused waited and said, “I flatulated.” I couldn’t even bring myself to even mention the four letter F word in the house. It seemed like one of these unspoken rules in such a proper house that people just should have utter control over all body functions at all times.
Some people think that we shouldn’t run in heritage homes. Perhaps because the infrastructure is old??? But my quirky perception on farting??? The jury is still out on that one.
I attribute it to my overall perception on farting. When I lived with my family I was always so disgusted by how often they would flatulate. To the point where for my 17th birthday, my parents bought me the book by Robert Munch called Good Families Don’t Fart. I was a little old to be recieving a children's book as a gift but they got their general point across.
Although it may be true, flatulance is a part of life that I suppose I’m just going to have to accept. Although I have to admit: if you're looking for a comical way to cut tension in the room, just save up some gas for the perfect improper moment.
