The Fart of the Matter

Seven years ago, I bought a new car.  This is important to note because that means that for seven years, I have been dealing with low profile tires.  To a person with below average car knowledge, here is a pros and cons list about low profile tires:

Pros: 

  1. THEY LOOK SO COOL (this must always be emphasized to make me feel better)

 Cons:

  1.  They are expensive.
  2. They are more easily susceptible to damage.

  3. That makes #1 worse.

Based on that list, my next car while likely have normal tires.  I will just have to deal with not looking as cool while I’m stranded on the side of the road.  I will also likely be deprived of great conversations like this:

Me: “Hi, Steve!  Remember that tire you fixed that I blew out after I hit a pothole last week?”

Steve: “Yeah, is something wrong with it?”

Me: “No, but I blew out another one on another pothole, so now I need that one fixed.”

Last month, my low pressure light went on.  I filled my tires up, but the stupid light* went off again a couple days later, so I figured it was time to take in my car.

*You’re not stupid, light.  I love you and thank you for helping me not become stranded.  But...jeez.  You ruin my day.  Also, it’s not possible for you to burn out, is it?  Surely you are pretty worn out by now, and I need you.  We’ll talk later.  No, I’m not going to get any real friends, just deal with it.

So I once again found myself in a waiting room at a tire place.  I’m kind of a professional when I go in now.  I give them my name, tell them which tire is being a jerk, tell them where I keep my wheel lock, and take a seat.  

There were five guys also in the waiting room.  There was a guy seated across from me, and there were four guys standing and talking by a vending machine on the other side of the room.  I pulled out my phone and figured I could use this time to get some important things done.

As I played Candy Crush, the guy sitting across from me suddenly farted.  I can assure you, this wasn’t one of those fart noises made by adjusting your position on a vinyl chair.  No, this was unmistakable.  If I had been with a friend, I would have laughed and asked her if she’d blown a hole in her pants.  But I was among strangers, so I just tried to keep a straight face and look down.  I would not humiliate this man, I would let him think that maybe, just maybe, he got away with that fart and that I’m hard of hearing or something.  

I shifted my eyes up briefly to look at the guy and realized he was staring at me, totally disgusted.  I shifted my eyes over to the group of guys by the vending machine, and they were giving me similar looks.  

Here’s the thing.  When you hear a noise in public, any noise at all, you instinctively look to see where the sound came from.  It’s just a natural reaction that can’t be helped (much like farting).  So it is understandable that the vending machine guys looked over to where the other guy and I were sitting.  But with my head hanging down and the other guy giving me a disgusted look, the blame of the fart had been placed on me.

This was clearly not this man’s first public fart.

He KNEW to immediately look at me with disgust to assign the blame for his flatulence.  And it worked!  I mean, what was I going to do?  Look at the vending machine guys and say, “Oh, I’m sorry, you misunderstood, that guy was actually the one who farted, not me!  I just didn’t want to embarrass him!” All I could do was sit there in what the vending machine guys assumed was my own noxious cloud of shame.

So I had to admire that kind of resourcefulness and fast thinking.  Well-played, fart guy.  I’ll be ready for how to deal with a tire store waiting room farter next time.

Which might not be too long from now since, you know, low profile tires.

BUT THEY LOOK SO COOL.

And I clearly need all the help I can get in that department, what with the reputation I have for carefree public farting.