Basically, the whole last 18 months of blogging has been gearing up to this one joke!! Haha! Childish I know, but that’s me… It is something we can all relate to though, because everyone knows that fairly close to the top of the public etiquette list is don’t fart in confined spaces. This post provides me with the opportunity to remind you all of this solemn social obligation. It also allows me to make a confession of sorts (a rather embarrassing one).
Several years ago I had a job which required me to make a short commute via train on an almost day-to-day basis. Having lived in Germany and experienced the immense efficiency of their rail network, this year or so left me with a deep abiding hatred of the English trains. But it was on one of these journeys that something terrible occurred.
I don’t know what it was, whether I’d eaten something or what, but that day my insides were churning around like a rusty old car engine. While there was no outward physical evidence of this inner turmoil, I was desperately trying to contain within myself a series of chemical weapon equivalent gases.
Thus far, I’d been successful but all was about the change on the train. Containment continued to be successful, although the thunder from down under was threatening to make an ever more likely appearance. As long as I remained still, things weren’t too much of a problem. But as with all train journeys there came a point where it had to end and I had to stand up and leave.
As the train manager pronounced the sentence, I stood to make my way to the door, steeling myself for the ordeal before me. I was dismayed when the hoped for empty vestibule (yes that’s what they call those door way things on trains) was fully occupied. I grimaced and clenched, trying my hardest not to commit social suicide in front a bunch of never-before seen, never-see again strangers and be condemned to be forever ridiculed as the man who farted in a crowd of strangers on a train.
The seconds turned to minutes, the minutes turned to hours, and every moment dragged as I sweated through the exertion. But then the moment came when I could hold on no longer. I gave up the proverbial ghost and consigned myself to the possible lynching I was about the receive.
But, lo and behold, hope unlooked for!! Unbeknownst to a sweating, clenching me, the vestibule in which I stood contained the train toilet. The train toilet, that rank, inhospitable place of stench, where only the desperate or unfeeling reside. At the moment of my capitulation, the door slid open. Those around me looked on the man exiting the toilet with something close to disdain as he slipped out of sight.
Without realising it that man had provided me with the ideal cover, and not waiting to miss my chance I glanced to my fellow commuters (who were by now gagging at my deadly miasma) and feigning (though that wasn’t difficult) a similar disgust I asserted with a half-smile “Urgh train toilets”. There were half chuckles and several nods of consent before we were finally able to disembark, with (seemingly) my credibility intact and another man’s in ruin.
I write this now so say sorry to that man and my fellow commuters, forgive me! But I suppose that just goes to show that Ninja truly are silent, but deadly.
Postscript: My proof-reading wife got through the first paragraph before looking at me shocked and saying “You’re not going to tell that story are you!” Haha, I had to come out sometime I suppose!