Every day at work I take "the slow elevator" (the elevator is really old and it's too expensive to update it, so it remains extremely slow) down to the mailroom. Well, last week there was a mail run that started out like any other mail run--but I tell you now--it did not continue like all prior mail runs.
There I was, standing in the hallway with my mail cart, waiting for the elevator to arrive. I was innocent and blindsided. The elevator bell dinged, letting me know the doors were about to open and I could get in, so I stepped in and pushed the B (basement) floor button. Right as I pushed the button I took a breath and about died--I had been crop-dusted. The lingering smell of someone else's fart was so overwhelming it clouded my thinking abilities. "Oh my GOSH!" I cried. It was like I had been knocked over by a wall of unbelievable fart. Too slow for the slow elevator, the doors closed before I could get out and I was trapped in there for three floors. I put my nose inside my shirt and began laughing hysterically. Oh man, what if the elevator stops, someone gets in and thinks it was ME?? What would I say? I laughed (with my nose in my shirt) the whole way down to the basement, luckily no one else needed the elevator at the time. When the doors opened I ran outta there as fast as I could.
Needless to say, I took my sweet time in the basement in the hopes that the elevator would air-out by the time I got back on. Fortunately for me it did.
2 weeks ago