Biblioflatus Antiquus

Recently, my wife’s nephew, who works in a store that sells used books, told us another interesting story about one of the many characters who frequent his place. Incidentally, the term “used” when paired with “book” doesn’t seem to be a good fit. I mean, if someone lends you a book and you simply read it and treat it with a reasonable amount of care, you don’t really use it as you would a pencil or a lawn mower, and it gets returned in the same condition that it was received. In fact, if someone wants to read a book that belongs to another, they don’t ever say, “May I use your book?” It’s “May I borrow your book?” Although you could make a strong case for a guy, if he’s forthright, asking to “use” another guy’s Playboy or Penthouse. And perhaps, this is the origin of the term, “second-hand.” Being aware of this important nuance, back in my hormones-run-amok days, I never let any of my friends “borrow” from my vast, “first hand” Playboy collection.

But back to my wife’s nephew, Tom’s story: It’s not surprising at all for a used book store to have oddball customers, but the particular behavior, in this case, was, to me, anyway, somewhat astonishing. In brief, he has a problem with the geriatric set using the store as an unofficial flatulence zone. And it’s not just an occasional occurrence. There appears to be a sizable sample of seniors with this condition, which I have labeled “Biblioflatus Antiquus” or BFA, to save space. To dispel any hint of ageism, I asked Tom if this condition had expressed itself in any members of a younger group, and he answered and unswerving, “No, they’re all in your age group or above;” a reply eliciting a reflexive “Well, you can be assured I would never do anything such as that, not even in the magazine section of Kmart.” After allowing me sufficient time to contemplate the guilt-tinged inappropriateness of my outburst, Tom calmly continued with his tale.

Interestingly, he said these people never evince any recognition of their gaseous gaffes, but simply continue to look through the books or even participate in the sales transactions, showing no reaction whatsoever. Of course, my inevitable reaction to this phenomenon was to ask, “Why is this happening.”

Initially I asked Tom was the evidence both olfactory and auditory, thinking that if it were olfactory only that perhaps it may be a combination of old book mustiness and old people mustiness, having experienced both. The former I actually enjoy, since it reminds me of my early youth when I would spend hours in my grandmother’s attic perusing ancient journals so laden with dust that I was occasionally distracted by a coughing silverfish. The old people odor, which happily my grandmother did not emanate due to the strategic use of “Lilly of the Valley” bath powder, is an essence that wafts pungently from many of our senior citizens and always triggers in my mind the funereal phrase, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and, possibly, is the first indication that that process is already beginning. Tom states that most of the time he is fortunate enough to receive an aural warning before the methane miasma pervades his territory, so we know we’re dealing with the real thing here.

Pointing out to Tom that no one should have to endure this vile sort of treatment, I suggested a couple of ways of dealing with it: 1) Just accept it, but also purchase some remedial devices, e.g., a gas mask (just say you’re conducting a terrorist chemical attack drill) or place a large industrial fan behind you; 2) attack the problem head-on/know your enemy. Have some fliers places on the sales counter that read as follows: “Biblioflatus Antiquus, a devastating medical condition that causes involuntary flatulence in used book store environments strikes 3 in 10 senior citizens. Don’t be afraid. You are not alone. The BFA support group meets every Monday at 8:00 in this bookstore. Please not that even though we will meet initially in the store, the meeting itself will be conducted outside for obvious reasons.”

At least, this way you’ll be able to identity all these individuals, I pointed out to Tom, that he, naturally, would be the group leader. He could then begin the group therapy that might eventually uncover the reasons for this devastating affliction. And even if this is not possible, perhaps reasonable modes of control might evolve such as self-administered or group wedgies or the ingesting of perfume-laced flatus-inducing foods such as Mexican cuisine, beans, or cabbage. Last but not least, should all this fail, you’ll now know who these perps are, which will enable you to utilize the Bush town meeting strategy and ban them from the store.

Feeling all my methods could be a bit too draconian, I finally suggested that Tom try to obtain a book I had just recently come across and display it conspicuously. It’s called—and this I’m not making up—“Cutting the Cheese or A Cultural History of Farting.”

Fortunately, Tom never takes anything I say or write seriously—and neither should you.