And this particular Sunday that nobody cared whose birthday it was, because we were all just glad to have an excuse to unwind after a long weekend of unwinding, was no exception.
So Dave was telling a group of us that were gathered around the kitchen table, the origin of the word "Shit." It was one of those fantastically stupid stories that people believe. It always ends up that the word in question is an acronym. I just now Googled "Stow High In Transit" because I didn't quite remember how Dave's story went. Yeah this was it:
Manure: In the 16th and 17th centuries, everything had to be Transported by ship and it was also before the invention of commercial Fertilizers, so large shipments of manure were quite common. It was shipped dry, because in dry form it weighed a lot less than when Wet, but once water (at sea) hit it, not only did it become heavier, But the process of fermentation began again, of which a byproduct is Methane gas of course. As the stuff was stored below decks in bundles You can see what could (and did) happen. Methane began to build up below decks and the first time someone came Below at night with a lantern, BOOOOM! Several ships were destroyed in this manner before it was determined Just what was happening
After that, the bundles of manure were always stamped with the Instruction ' Stow high in transit ' on them, which meant for the Sailors to stow it high enough off the lower decks so that any water That came into the hold would not touch this volatile cargo and start The production of methane.
Thus evolved the term ' S.H.I.T ' , (Stow High In Transit) which has Come down through the centuries and is in use to this very day. You probably did not know the true history of this word. Neither did I. I had always thought it was a golf term
I love how the internet version of the story explains where the water that gets into the shit comes from. We're talking about transporting manure by ship, but we still feel the need to explain that the shit gets wet from the water at sea and not say, from a leaky faucet or something. Also "someone came below at night with a lantern?" In the daytime, the ship's lower levels must have had so much natural light streaming in that lanterns were only necessary at night.The nice thing about the internet is that not only does it provide us with some of the hugest bullshit stories ever, it gives us what we need to find out whether or not they are true. If for some reason you are extremely gullible, It's easy to find out that Bill Cosby didn't say: "I'm 76 and tired."
Go to google. Type "Bill Cosby 76" and there you go.
However, nobody likes a know-it-all. I don't. You don't. But I couldn't help myself. The thing is, I felt bad for Dave because he's a really nice guy. I actually felt more than 99 percent sure the story was bullshit. But Dave had the floor. People were listening intently and interested. They evaluated Dave's story as studious and amazing.
Dave is a smart guy. He doesn't ever come across as super intelligent, though. He has a good sense of humor about himself and is never showy or boastful. Just a good guy to be around. He was only telling the story because he had heard it and thought it was fascinating.
I, on the other hand, am a weaselly little show-off, know-it-all jerk. I annoy myself. Often after I say something, I say it again in my head with a mocking voice. I imagine I'm wagging my head at myself repeating what I just said in a nasally tone. It's pretty bad.
But like I said, I couldn't help myself.
"Uh Dave? I have a question. How could you believe such a huge load of Bull Stow High In Transit?"
Dave was slightly taken aback. Others who were just a moment ago, discovering a joy they'd never known upon learning the "history they won't tell you at school," turned angrily toward me and my party pooping.
My dad was in no mood for "Mr Smarty pants" today, saying, "You best mind your p's and q's, boy!"
"That explains something though," I continued, "Back when I was really poor and my car would break down and I didn't have enough money to fix it so I'd have to go buy another piece of shit car, I didn't understand why I had to put a piece of paper on the car that said 'In Transit.' Now I understand that it was some sort of shorthand description of my car. Thanks Dave."
As my dad and a couple others grabbed my arms to extricate me from the premises, my rant was just getting going, "Oh dad, that reminds me. The other night when you called me and told me the origin of the word 'golf?' Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden" Did you actually believe that? What a moron. Was I adopted?"
With that, the guys opened the storm door with my forehead and threw me out into the street.
Sitting there for a moment, I looked back at the house, bemused. Everyone had gone back inside and shut the door. There was snow on the ground so it was probably my sister's birthday. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my last crumpled Marlboro. Leaning back a little to dig into the front pocket of my dampening, cold jeans, I grabbed my green Bic lighter. "These damn things are gonna kill me," I said as I struggled to spark a flame from the now wet lighter. Finally I got it lit and inhaled the tobacco-ey goodness deep into my lungs. That's better, I thought, as I rested a shivering hand on the street, oblivious to the fact that I was sitting on a combined wastewater storm drain sewer grate thing. Apparently, the lethal combination of melting snow and neighborhood poo had festered into a highly explosive concoction that became ignited by my cigarette.
The resulting explosion shook the ground and sent me flying 200 feet into the air on top of the sewer cover.
Watching the whole thing from inside, my dad turned to my family and said, "I guess now we know where we get the saying, 'Flying, screaming douchebag on a manhole cover."
"I always thought that was a golf term," Dave joked to the delight of all in attendance.
And my sister really did have a happy birthday after all.
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