When I was a kid we used to live in Germany. At the time the thing I wanted most was to come back to the states, back to my grandmother’s house. I didn’t realize until much later just how much my time in Germany would mean to me. I remember snow, lot’s of snow – which we don’t get much here in Vegas. We used to ride the bus all over the place and even that was fun. I remember many times waiting out in the snow with our fur lined coats for the bus to come. One time this old German guy came up to my brother and myself as we were waiting and he started pointing at us while saying something in German. It didn’t seem like something bad because he started laughing and then walked away. Maybe he was saying that we were funny looking Americans – I really don’t know because I didn’t know any German at the time. “I think he’s talking about you.” My brother said as he watched the man walk away.

The reason I’m thinking back to my time in Germany is because something happened today that made me think about that very moment that I just shared. I walked into an elevator and I tried to hit the button before anyone else could get on – mostly because I like riding in the elevator by myself or with people I know. I hate to ride in an elevator full of people that I don’t know. Well, I hit the close door button but as luck would have it the door didn’t close, it stayed open. I pushed it again and again the door stayed open. It was open long enough for a group of German tourists to walk in.

They all crowded into the elevator and I was sort of forced to move to the back and to the right side of the elevator. They were all talking in German, so I didn’t know what they were saying except for the occasional word of English that I could make out. I was standing behind this group of people minding my own business, posting some update on facebook through my phone when I suddenly felt a strange wave like feeling in my stomach. I immediately thought about the spicy squid I had for lunch at the Korean restaurant  in Chinatown earlier that day. I could feel sweat start to bead all across my hair line and behind my neck. I don’t know if it was hot or not, but I knew I was sweating and my stomach was rumbling.

I looked up at the lighted numbers using my mind powers to make them move faster so I could get off the elevator and run to the restroom. I’m kind of funny about farts. I’m not the kind of person that can just let one rip. I feel like the only three places I can really fart is in the restroom because that’s what they’re made for, my room because that’s my fortress of solitude and if I want to fart in there all day long I can – but no one else can, and I can fart when I’m outside because the air carries it off and no one has to know that the gas has been passed. The thing I can’t do is fart in an elevator, especially one that is full of German tourists.

I can imagine it now: they all go back to Germany and talk about the American guy at the back of the elevator that farted. Some of them may even have blogs are writing a post much like this one. I squeezed my butt cheeks together as hard as I could – all you P90X’ers out there would have been proud of my ass cheek muscles – they were “bringing it.”

I looked up at the numbers again, still trying to use my mind powers to make them speed up, but then I remembered I didn’t have mind power or if I did they were working in reverse because the numbers were not moving any faster – as a matter of fact, they seemed to moving slower. As I concentrated on making the numbers move faster I lost concentration on squeezing my butt cheeks and all of a sudden – it even surprised me there was a small Pfffft sound.

I held my breath and stood very still as my eyes darted one way then the next to see if anyone acknowledged the sound, but no one did. The German tourists just kept talking in German as if nothing had happened. Maybe I was going to get out of this with my dignity intact. I started to breath again and that’s when I smelled it. I can’t even describe the smell other than to say that Spicy Squid from the Korean restaurant in Chinatown does not leave your body smelling like roses.

It was soon after I smelled it that I believe the tourists began to smell it too because all of a sudden, one by one they became quiet and looked around until their eyes focused on me.

“what’s up?” I asked trying to sound casual and hoping that nothing else would escape my body.

They didn’t say anything to me. A couple of them laughed and then they all turned around and started talking quickly in German to each other.

I decided that as soon as the doors opened I was going to rush out of the elevator, but that didn’t really happen. As soon as the doors opened the German tourists all ran out of the elevator and were falling all over each other laughing.

I walked out of the elevator as a young couple walked in.

I could tell by the look on their faces that they could smell it.

“Damn tourists,” I said. “Farting in the elevator is not funny.”

I turned and walked toward the restroom. I passed the tourist who started laughing when I walked by and for some reason I could hear my brother's voice in my head saying, "I think they're talking about you."