She Who Smelt It, Did NOT "Dealt It"

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.