As I was browsing around in Target last night, I suddenly felt a big rumble in my gut. I had a Koia protein drink earlier. Yes, it’s vegan, but there is 7g of fiber per bottle. I identify as a vegan these days. I eat plant-based unless I have some sort of emotional dysregulation issue. Usually due to losing money at the casino, road rage, or having relationship problems. Then it’s pepperoni pizza and chicken fingers.
Anyway, I felt a huge rush of gas tumbling through my lower GI tract. Several farties oncoming!
Being the gentleman that I am, I tried to practice some restraint and clenched. But the pressure was too much, and there was a PHIIIIIIIENT!. One of the highest pitched pooters I ever let out. It hit a G note, or whatever the highest note on a flute.
I quickly glanced around and this dainty older lady gave me a really disgusted look. I was mortified. I felt 98% of my blood supply flowing to my face. I grabbed my pumpkin spice granola from the shelf and then quickly GTFO.
But then I wondered what was the PROPER way to handle such situations? I could’ve sworn way back in the day, Ms. Manners said look to the person on your left. But I didn’t have that option.
My Daddy would always blame the kids around, loudly.
Then he got a big ol’ fat pittie that was always handy. The dog was a notorious gas-passer, anyway. Like a truck driver, he was.
Sounded oddly human. Him and Daddy ate the same food usually.
So it was a veritable sing-along around those two.
He did tell the story of a small, tiny little egg fart he had at church one time. Wooden pew.
Resounded allover the sanctuary. Rattled the stained glass.
Church ladies had tears in their eyes, for a couple of reasons.
In a department store, well you takes your chances. It’s the wild west.
I’m just glad no one crapped on the floor at my Walmart.
While there is some discretion to try to take in situations like this, the situation was what it was, and you had to “let fly.” I assume you were nowhere near her, nor cropdusted her, so . . . c’est la vie. I’m sure she’s over it.
My dentist farted one time. It was super hard not to laugh with instruments in my mouth.
Especially when his assistant was laughing so hard it fogged up her safety glasses.
He was the same dentist who regularly had garlic breath and nearly laid on top of you to work. He was lefty in a righty world.
I asked him once why he didn’t get new dental chair arrangement. He said that’s how he learned and it wasn’t fixin’ to change.
I recently had a doctor fart in a exam room. That was really fun.
The move is called the “left cheek sneak”. You reach into your left back pocket as if you’re fishing for your wallet, and you move the buttock aside so the fart escapes with a hiss rather than with resonance. Then you leave the area before the consequences are known.
Obviously you need a good sense of your bowel contents, because otherwise instead of solving 1 problem you can end up with dealing with 2.
Seems to me like simply not calling attention to a biological inevitability is a reasonable solution, and it wouldn’t exactly seem polite to me to fuss about it with a stranger (this directed to the grumpy lady).
Miss Manners says that some things are so disgusting that it’s rude to even draw attention to them.
If you fart, you’re being rude. But if you fart and say “Excuse me,” then you’re being rude twice – once by farting, and then again by saying something and drawing attention to it.
In the supermarket, don’t look around, just let rip and walk away without looking back.
If you hear over the PA system that there’s a person the ground choking in the aisle you just left, it was clearly a good one.
I used to shop with an aunt who had legendary farting prowess.
She would nonchalantly lean into a clothing display and let one rip. Maybe she thought the wall of cloth would muffle the sound?
She was also fond of lighting farts at home but that’s for another thread.