It all began this morning at 250, up on a stack in Boston; peaked somewhere around 400’ in the air, and all ended at sea level.

Today my stack comrade committed an act that will live on in the annals of stack lore forever. The incident was a truly transformative experience that I felt could not be kept within the confines of the very narrow sphere of stack testing. It all began this morning at 250 feet up on a stack in Boston. My fellow stack rats and I were conducting some routine testing when Probe Pushing Pedro had a sudden dreadfully concerned look on his face. “I have to shit.” He said with grave assurance. Shaking his head he pondered how to resolve this pressing issue. With a ten minute elevator ride down and a ten minute elevator ride back up a visit to the men’s room was not an option. Pedro quickly grabbed an empty ice bag, stretched it over the inside of a 5-gallon bucket and galloped out of site to the far side of the stack. Luckily there was thick fog settled over the smoke stack preventing the Boston skyline or the innocent city dwellers below from witnessing this depraved stack rat busting vicious stack-ass in a bucket. After a few grueling minutes of ass-on-bucket terror Pedro came back around the corner with empty bucket in hand and a grin like the Cheshire cat stretched across his face. “Where’s the shit?” I asked. “In the bag” replied Pedro. On the dark side of the stack lay a bag stretched with the evidence of Pedro’s stack-infested lower intestine.

As the work days end came near the looming question of how to dispose of the “evidence” demanded an answer. Our slightly deranged comrade T. White suggested surrendering the bagged goods to the stack Gods. In other words, put Pedro’s steaming stack load into the stack and letting the flue gas carry it to the heavens 200’ above our heads. Pedro cried in defiance that his load was far too heavy for the stack to carry. After many terse and frank evaluations we concluded that the Gods were on our side and the pouch of poo would soar to the celestial doves in a magnificent holy testament to the stack. Pedro fetched the offering, said a small prayer and crammed his hot bag of shit into the stack. We quickly ran to the edge of the decking surrounding the stack and looked to the sky. Out it came like a hot brown streak across the sky, blazing a gravity defying trajectory towards its holy zenith, where upon it began its rapidly accelerating and terrifying descent towards the power plant below. Fortunately the bag found its final resting place on the pavement below and not on the hard hat of an unsuspecting power plant employee. The celebration was not short lived and we all agreed it was one of the greatest events to ever occur on a smoke stack. I am confident we will all have the stack God’s watchful eye keeping us safe. May the stack be with you Pedro.

Smokestack Willy