My Most Embarrassing Moment

You know, some of the most profound or hilarious material runs through my head during that stretch of time in bed where you are not quite asleep yet, but mostly comfortable and can't draw yourself up. Almost every night I get some sort of thought or collection of thoughts that I think are worthy of blogging or emailing and I think "get up and do it now or it will be lost forever!" I never do though. I always talk myself into staying in bed promising I WILL remember it in the morning when I see my laptop. I never do though!

So in lieu of one of those golden nuggets of profoundness...I'll share with you all one my most embarrassing moments.

Junior year of Kent State and I was living with my sidekick Erica in our first apartment at The University Inn. These apartments were basically glorified suites on the top two floors of a hotel, but it was perfect for just the two of us and we felt like big girls on our own. Our laundry room was on the fourth floor and we lived on the seventh floor "penthouse" (if I'm remembering correctly).

So this particular weekend I believe I'd had too many tacos with Scott and probably could have floated down to the fourth floor on my own cloud of gas, but I took the elevator anyway to put a load in. I take care of business, grab my basket and punch the button for the elevator. Suddenly I get that build up down below, clenched and tried to hold it in. The elevator opens and I'm alone...phew. Ugh, but my belly is cramping from holding it in and I decide to release a tiny bit of pressure and squeak out THE tiniest little bubble of a toot. Ya know, since I'm alone. I feel the release but within nanoseconds I'm surrounded by the foulest stench of sewer and it's inescapable. And of course in that same minuscule frame of time I hear voices waiting for the elevator at the next floor.

SH*T!! One floor from safety! Maybe they won't want to go up. *Ding Door opens*

Only one of the guys got in with me and after our obligatory acknowledgment of each other I just stared at my basket, sweating bullets. Feeling the pressure rise with the elevator and the stench I looked up from my basket and still today not knowing exactly why, I quite sheepishly said "It stinks in here." The guy nods his head while still looking down at the floor, probably trying to hold his breath. And like a true guilty person I said, "It wasn't me." *Ding Door opens*

Oh thanks be to God! I ran away from that elevator like it had held me captive for years and back to the safety of my little apartment. And then I laughed my butt off and even still I laugh at how embarrassing it was, but more than that...why the hell did I implicate myself by denying any part of the stench? That ALWAYS points the finger right at you. The old "he who smelt it, dealt it" deal, right?

So there you go. I'm the elevator farter and darter.