The Gas I've Passed

I was at a performance in my school's auditorium last night, sitting to the side and rear of the rest of the audience. A few students were performing a song onstage and one of the parents was standing along the wall a few feet away from me. As the audience politely watched the peformance, the parent farted. It was quick, it had clarity and, luckily, it didn't smell (it has always been my belief that the louder they are, the less they stink. Effort and explosiveness = fewer wrinkled noses). To my added relief, no one near us seemed to notice. This incident set me to thinking about the top 3 flatulations from my lifetime:

1. The Late 1980's - Math Class I was sitting near the back and center of the classroom. Miss Klingenberg was teaching her lesson when I realized I needed to float an air biscuit. I slowly began the release of an SBD (silent but deadly). It started off well enough. But soon I had to strain to get the rest out. Completely unaware of how I might look, I leaned forward in my desk, so much so that the rear legs of my chair rose above the floor. At this very moment, hunched like a dog on the lawn, the gas erupted - loudly. I immediately set my chair back down and pretended to attend to the lesson. It was too late to act nonchalantly. I was clearly the culprit. My peers nearest me looked at me, scanning my face for signs of weakness. I foolishly looked around the room as if I too was searching for the source. This gave me away instantly. The classroom roared with laughter as the teacher returned to her lesson.

2. The Late 1980's - Math Class I won't waste space here. Sadly, a year after the last indiscretion in Klingenberg's class, I did the same thing under nearly identical circumstances. Some of the faces had changed, but the gas remained the same.

3. 2000 - Theater Class This time, I was the teacher in a Kindergarten theater class. A few of the students were performing part of a play, while the rest sat on chorus risers. I stood next the class, watching. Feeling the need to let one fly, I waited for a funny moment when the kids in the audience would laugh. The volume of a group of six year olds can easily mask a near "boom-boom". To my dismay, the laughter wasn't forthcoming. I had to resort to an SBD. My mother, who is also a teacher, told me she would often walk the aisles in her classrooms, discreetly depositing her payload between two students who would inevitably blame each other. Taking her experiences to heart, I did my business and quietly stepped away from the crime scene. The young girl sitting nearest to the invisible cloud sat politely - hands folded in her lap. Soon her nose began to twitch. She squinted her eyes and looked side to side for the source of the smell. Having enough of the nice-nice she broke down and began swatting the air in front of her face, as if trying to knock away an fly. I felt a little bad for the poor kid, but my pride in following in my mother's footsteps swelled. I beamed at the knowledge that I had gotten away with the perfect crime.