Escalating Flatulence

So, I have this fear.

I mean, I have a few fears.  You know, the usual: spiders, dark basements, waking up to a wide-eyed, panting Gary Busey standing next to your bed.

But, in regard to the one about which I'm writing...well, I'd like to know if anyone shares this fear.  It would make me feel a little bit better about having it, I think.  So, here it is.

*exhale*

I have a long-standing fear of getting FARTED on while standing behind someone on the escalator.

C'mon...you know what I'm talking about, right??  You're riding a two or three steps behind someone on an escalator...your face is JUST about rump-level...and then, just when you think all is well, your nose detects the increasingly pungent odor of some recently released backdoor perfume!  It's bad enough that you have to stand there in the mess of it, hoping and praying that it dissipates before your nose hairs start to curl up to their roots.  But then you are forced to wrap your mind around the fact that what you're smelling is not just some bad B.O. or day-old dishes in need of washing, but noxious, gassy, post-digested food-stank that was just blasted, without permission or warning, into your face...FROM SOMEONE ELSE'S BUTT!  BUTT to FACE!!  GOOD SWEET SHPILCHIS, NO!!

While I'm sure there are some people who are into that kinda thing (as I firmly believe that if you can think of it, there's SOMEONE out there who's into it), I am not one of those people.  Call me crazy, but, given the choice, I would prefer to partake in flatulent activity by playing the role of the dispenser, not the recipient.  If I wanted to come face-to-butt with a gassy afterthought, I'm sure I know a few people who would be more than happy to assist me in that endeavor.  But I don't.  ESPECIALLY NOT ON AN ESCALATOR.

And, Ladies, do not think you're excluded from the scenario, here.  I'm MOST afraid of you LADIES...yeah, I'm talkin' to you.  See, you're the ones that, having some semblance of self-respect and dignity (cf. men), try to air your grievances in a manner that doesn't draw attention to yourselves...like, say, while driving in a convertible, or walking down a busy street, or ON A MOVING ESCALATOR!  That's right, I'm calling you out.  I know you ladies hold your fire, waiting for the perfect opportunity to let fly in a such a setting where the crime can never be traced back to you.  It's smart, I'll give you that.  But as far as automated uphill travel is concerned, I have you makeup-wearing crop-dusters on the radar first and foremost!

So, that be my fear.  Odd?  Perhaps.  Unusual?  Probably.  Well-founded?  I challenge arguments to the contrary.

I will close by saying that if I have made even one person more keenly aware of the olfactoral dangers of escalator travel, I have done my job and will go to sleep with a smile.  And then, in all likelihood, dream of getting farted on while riding an escalator.


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