Class Gives Me Gas

I had been sitting in the same chair for two hours, and I was only two thirds of the way through my once a week Intro to American History class. The gas pains in my gut were growing stronger and I knew that if the professor didn’t grant us a break soon that my delicate 18 year old frame would explode outward into a giant skin-ball before retracting into a black hole with my navel as the epicenter.

Fifteen more minutes passed and still no break. I only had to hold on for another forty five minutes, but the building pressure inside was starting to make me twitch with uncontrollable spats of seizure. My choices were limited—do the unthinkable and pass gas in class or die. I was young, only a freshman, so for me the choice was clear.

“I got this” I thought, “I’ve done it before. Junior year of high school, third period chemistry, blamed it on spilled sulfur. Just relax and let it happen. Wait till the pressure subsides, give it an exit strategy, and don’t interfere. It’s as simple as that.”

The time came when the back-pressure had diminished enough to allow for a safe release and with practiced precision I sat motionless staring blankly down at my desk as the intolerable burden dispelled without a sound. “I feel uncomfortable,” I complained to myself.

“No time for that!” I snapped back. “Focus on what you are doing. You can come up with a stench alibi in a minute, but right now you need to concentrate. You know what’s at stake here. Release too much pressure at once and the vanguard will start to vibrate. Slow and steady will win the day.”

On I trudged, holding the same intent but distant stare down at my desk. Five seconds past, then ten. The duration, while impressive, was starting to make me grow increasingly anxious about completing the deed.  I stole a quick glance around the room from under my eyebrows.  None of the other students seemed to be having their senses tripped by either auditory or fragrance triggers.

“This is taking forever.” I thought. “And the longer it goes the more I put myself at risk.”

I knew that any movement of my body could generate a rapid discharge resulting in an embarrassing reverberation. A raise of the hand, a shift in my feet, or anything else that activated my core muscles could encourage an unstable release. Even worse, an instinctual sneeze or unexpected cough would assuredly ignite an explosive blast from the volatile situation. 

And that is when the panic began to creep in. With eyes darting and hands wringing my mentalities started to yield to fear. “I feel exposed. I’m in the open here! One wrong move and I’m fried! I need to move this along and fast.”

Slowly I pressed down on the accelerator; just a slight squeeze of the throttle to speed the process. First it was a flapping, puttering, prop engine sputtering to life. Then, like the warning blare of a fog horn sounded by ships in the night, a baritone didgeridoo bellowed from my seat.

I was Gimli sounding the horn of Helm Hammerhand.

Terror etched itself on my face as the audible vibrations shook the pencil on my desk and ruffled the pages of the notebook in the student’s backpack in front of me. Fighting the tornado within I clenched with all my might, striving in vain to seal the hatch and cut off the perfectly pitched bass that resonated from below. My efforts to slam the door against the escaping torrent lead to an acoustical phenomenon wherein I performed flawlessly a running scale from the depths of the auditory range to the squeaking final notes of the C6 octave. Like the sound of a moving slide on a trombone my one man band sang forth a smoothly escalating melody that echoed of the walls of the small classroom. Then complete silence.

Afraid to look up I did so anyway. A pouting puppy could not have modeled a better sullen, regretful, and innocent face as the one I wore in those moments following my humiliation. But like a true professional the teacher never broke stride.  After finishing his thought he looked at the clock and mercifully said “That will be all for the day, class.” Then looking directly at me but still speaking to the group as a whole said “You are free to go home and take care of any personal business that may need attending to.”