Let me get this straight. You’re a paramedic, and you mistook a fart attack for a heart attack? OK, that is rather funny! 
I’m lactose intolerant, and the gas produced when I consume too much dairy is bad. Really bad. Sickeningly bad (I actually made a college roomie throw up the smell was so horrendous).
When I was interning at the State Capitol I had a very delicious milkshake and then proceeded to get to work carrying papers to various floors. The milk had, by this time, started to ferment in my gut and things were getting a bit unpleasant. I got on the elevator to make a trip up to another floor, loosened one my more disgusting rotten milk farts, and just as the door is closing someone sticks a hand through and says, “Hold the elevator for the Governor.”
The Governorn proceeds to get on the elevator with me and we have to ride three floors up - me, the Chief Executive of the Commonwealth of Virginia, and a really bad fart. The pained look on his face is something I’ll never forget.
I think that’s something a lot of people in a lot of states would PAY MONEY to do, plnnr. Many here in the state of Kentucky about now!
Pee-yooo.
Late to this thread, but I felt I should share my moment of flatuent glory.
This was back when I was young. And in the Navy. And could drink beer. On the day in question I had the duty, and was on watch for the shut down reactor plant on my ship. Since it was a shut down watch, I had it for 24 hours, and just had to do a few things at any specific time. One thing was, however, at midnight to go down and update the logs in the control room. While there, I’d talk with the shutdown reactor operator, and the shutdown electrical operator. Of everyone on watch that night, the only person who had to stay in that room was the SRO.
Anyways, the night before I’d been drinking some beer. Well, a lot of beer. Back in the day I could drink a lot and not get really pissed with it. And I was having spicy wings with it. And for some reason, I didn’t have to crap all day that day. Until midnight, when I went to the control room to update my logs.
While we waited for the officer in charge (like me, another 24 hour roving watch) we were talking. And then the used beer, used chicken wings, and perhaps the Taco Hell that I’d had for supper combined into some unholy miasma. And I let out a fart of biblical proportions. Everyone stopped what we were talking about and stared. Then the aroma hit.
All of us who could leave the control room, did. We were even nice enough to warn the EDO that he really, really, really didn’t want to go in there.
But the SRO was cursing me the whole rest of the week. Since he had to stay at the Reactor Plant Control Panel. Right next to where I’d farted.
I’m lactose intolerant too, plnnr. It’s special, isn’t it?
One morning back when I was working the morning shift at McDonald’s, I was running a register. And we were slammed. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I also knew it had been a mistake to have that milkshake for breakfast…
All I could do was ring up order after order, while gas tore holes in my guts and occasionally forced its way to the outside of my body.
I don’t have any sense of smell myself, but I could tell these were bad ones…hot, steaming, and dangerous. It was confirmed when another crewperson walked behind me on her way to the hashbrown station. She dropped her sandwich, clapped her hands over her face, and screamed, “OOUUGHWEEE! Smell like them *AIGS * done gone bad!”