Machine

Fart machine recrudesces at morning meeting. New Man and friend from the Photography department spend half an hour using machine. The Contessa and I exchange looks of extreme irritation. The contessa and I send emails to each other. The Contessa: This is ridiculous, I am going down and telling the dean, right now. Me: I am going with you. Both of us know that we will do nothing of the sort, but the emails bet increasingly divorced from reality. The Contessa: What we should do is write to the President. Me: Yes we should. He would Want to know. (On the contraray, the President would probably find his day ruined if two secretaries from an obscure art institute on campus brought such a thing to his attention.) When New Man goes out to coffee, the Contessa says, Let's go break it. Am very surprised when find self out of chair and in office. The Contessa busy throwing open desk drawers and rooting through contents. Machine nowhere to be found. We come to the conclusion that New Man must keep machine on his person at all times.