Working With an Old Fart

I'm digging back into my archives today and sharing another locksmith story with you all. Even though this happened to me about 7 years ago, I can still envision it perfectly in my mind!

First Service Call Alone:

My boss was gone on a job so I had to go unlock the house of a very small and very old man. I was nervous but confident; I knew how to pick locks. So pick kit in hand, I met him at his door. The picking began, and as I worked, I noticed a twelve year old boy's comical dream come true! The old man apparently had no control over his bodily noises and would squeak a few out every so often. Lucky for me, despite my close proximity to him, it didn't smell, but I was having quite a time not laughing. After a half an hour, resulting in a major blister on my finger, the lock would not pick! This isn't entirely uncommon, picking isn't all skill, its odds too. The old fart (pun intended) mentioned that he had problems with the front door and it didn't work right...NOW he tells me! I asked if he had any other doors and he said that there was a side door by his garage. I told him to lead the way, and then I noticed something even better than the simple 'gas leak' problem: Every step he took was accompanied by a very bubbly fart! I still have no idea how I didn't die of laughter!

We got to the side door (still no smell thank God), and I worked on that for a while. I still had no luck, and then he informed me that this lock wasn't working well either. Thanks Buddy! I had no idea what to do, and then he mentioned a sliding glass door on the OTHER side of the house. This is a good sized house, so I had to hold back my laughter as he let loose his bowels every step of the way! When we got to the slider, I noticed that there was no lock on it, thus I could not pick it! He pointed to the kitchen window next to it and said that it was always unlocked so I could crawl through (very professional). The only problem was that it was probably 10 feet off the ground. Captain Farts Alot said he had a ladder...in the garage...on the OTHER side of the house!

So I followed him, farting every step, back around the house to the garage! My stomach was hurting from holding in laughter by now. He got the ladder and wouldn't let me carry it back to the window because he was trying to be a gentleman and not burden my feminine frame with heavy lifting. He was already crippled up and bent over, so I was afraid he was just going to break in half from the ladder. Nope, the added weight just put extra umph and strain to his gassy trudge back to the window! 

Must be professional, can't laugh; Must be professional, can't laugh!

I crawled through his window, got him in, went to my car, and DIED of laughter. I was there for an hour with the human fart machine, and I never laughed until I was in my car where he couldn't see...although I bet he and the whole town heard me laughing all the way back to work!