Not Even Guilty About It
Before we dive in, it’s worth noting that I indulged in a lot of Taco Bell just before bedtime, the night before the funeral. I couldn’t keep track of all the food items, but, surely, there was a burrito supreme among them.
Now, let’s rewind a bit. There was this much-anticipated annual trip to Chicago that was meant for people in my field. However, around the same time, the grandma of my on-and-off-again ex-girlfriend passed away.
My ex wasn’t the warmest person, but I offered to skip the trip and stand by her during this difficult time. And that’s when things started to get rather…complicated.
Fast forward to the morning after Taco Bell. I woke up with an ungodly amount of gas that didn’t seem like it would dissipate. You know when it’s going to be one of those bad ones. We were staying with her relatives, who lived in a comparatively small house with lots of family members, meaning there was no place vacant enough to vent.
So, the gas remained in me, churning. We got ready and headed to the viewing, and luckily the gas appeared to calm down…but it wasn’t gone by any means. As the family members started to engage in conversations with each other, I saw a golden opportunity to expel at least a part of this, let’s call it Cinematic Disaster, lurking in me.
It seemed perfect. Some respite, finally! So, I stayed put as everyone moved away and let it rip. I was well aware it would be silent. However, I had underestimated the aftermath.
It was as if the temperature and humidity in that room spiked. The odor was thick, strong, and unpleasant. It could have easily been blamed on a dog or a dog-human mix. Soon, the family started to pick up on the smell, followed by others who were close by. As they began tracking down the source, my heart sank.
Normally, I’m a chill person. And in addition to that, I was exhausted that day. I may not be an actor, but my basic survival instinct kicked in to avoid getting the blame for that infernal stink. I played it cool, denied all responsibility, and somehow managed to sidestep the blame. But the ensuing incident puts me in the hall of shame.
Soon after the disaster, a wheelchair-bound man entered the gather up. Someone in the family suggested that he might be the culprit, and I, maintaining a poker face, played along by saying, “Yeah, I didn’t pick up on the smell until he arrived”.
I could say that I feel guilty, but honestly, I chuckle every time I recall my ex’s mother trying to rationalize the smell by saying, “I wonder if he accidently rolled his wheels over something”.
Call me the shmuck that I am, please.