“Hello?”

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Nothing. What’s going on?”

“So, I had a weird situation the other day.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, in short, I had to run from a fart before someone saw it was me.”

“Wow. That’s quite an opening.”

“So, at work, our office is on the 7th floor. However, the parking deck goes up to the 5th floor. So, I drive up to the 5th floor and walk up two flights of stairs to our office. The stairwell is like any other, basically a concrete tube that runs up the middle of the building.”

“I can picture it now.”

“Well, on the 2nd floor of our building is a gym. It’s one of those boutique, cross-training fitness places that are all the rage now. This franchise is particularly chique and this location is quite popular with 20-something females.”

“Not a bad problem to have.”

“Not at all. You should see this place. It’s ridiculous. Anyway, as part of it’s workouts, the gym uses the stairwell and the parking deck for running intervals. Sometimes I’ll see them at night when I’m leaving for the day. It’s a nice little surprise to finish the day and, while en route to the car, a nice looking girl bobs by on the stairs.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“It is. However, this doesn’t happen that often. Maybe a few times a month, or at least rarely enough that you’re never expecting it.”

“Can I guess where this is going?”

“Maybe. So, the other night I felt a particularly large bellowing in my stomach as I’m leaving the office. Because I need to fart and don’t want to do it in the office, I hustle to the stairwell door. As soon as I get on the other side, I rip a monster that echoes up and down the silo. It was spectacular. I legitimately laughed. It was one of those.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Anyway, my laugh is cut short because the next thing I hear are footsteps. Someone is running the stairs, but I can’t tell if they are above or below me. They’re close enough though that I’m positive this person heard my fart.”

“Here we go.”

“So, I’m on 7. I’m parked on 5. I begin a mad dash down the stairs hoping I can escape before I encounter this person. As I begin my descent, I determine the person is below me, meaning we are heading for a face to face confrontation at some point. I’m in slacks and dress shoes but am in a dead sprint down the steps.”

“This is great.”

“Just wait. So, I get to the landing halfway between 5 and 6, so I’m half a flight from my escape and I see the person coming up to 5. I realize I’m not going to make it. So, I immediately reverse my pace to a casual walk, however, I’m panting and visibly nervous. I walk down the last few steps and, as luck would have it, come face to face with a bombshell at the 5th floor landing. She makes a weird face and I don’t know if it’s an ‘I’m embarrassed to see people while I’m running these stairs’ face or if it’s the ‘Oh god, you’re the guy who farted’ face.”

“I love that those are distinct faces in your mind. Because who isn’t familiar with the, ‘Oh, you’re the guy who farted’ face.”

“Whatever. So, this encounter last 1.5 seconds, but it feels like five minutes. In those milliseconds, my first thought is to make a joke about it. Some line that would insinuate it was someone else. Then, I think that would be too awkward. My brain gets completely fumbled and I end up blurting out, ‘Good run’.”

“Good run?”

“Yep.”

“Did you mean, like, good form? Or was it, like, past tense as in ‘It was a good run’?”

“I didn’t mean anything. I blurted something out and it made no sense.”

“So, what did she do?”

“She looked at me the way you’d look at some creep who’d just farted in the stairwell and then made an awkward comment about your run.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She squeaked out a ‘Thanks’ as though it was the password to get by me. Then, she scurried up the steps as fast as she could.”

“Well, pal. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“Any chance you’ll see her again?”

“Ordinarily, no. But, given what happened, I’m sure now I’ll now see her on a weekly basis.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

“Good run.”

“Fuck off.”