Of mannerless individuals who pass wind in the elevator

There is an African saying that when old bones are mentioned in presence of old people, the geezers get uneasy. When I was very young, my late grandmother (God bless her Catholic soul) would occasionally and very loudly pass wind in my presence. She would then tell me not to worry, it’s her old dry bones creaking!

I grew up believing this narrative, until one older bully in primary school farted, (boys fart, passing wind is for the sophisticated types) loudly in my presence. This got me astounded and I told him he hard dry bones like my grandmother. That earned me more bullying.

Fast forward to modern life. While it’s a basic function for the body to release wind just as a car releases some smoke after combustion in the engine, where and how you do it determines if you can be referred as an urbanite.

People in major towns need to be informed that while a lift, that small cubicle that shuttles between the ground and top floor, in skyscrapers may look private when you are alone in it, it remains a very public space. Simply because the cubicle has mirrors all round should not be mistaken for a cloakroom.

Countless times, I have waited for a lift and when it arrives a sharp dressed damsel saunters out as she scrolls on her phone. Many lifts are calibrated by impatient people. And if a lift opens and you have not hopped in within two seconds, it always takes off. With this benefit of experience, I always hop onto the lift quickly.

It is unfortunate that lifts don’t have a window to let in fresh air. So not long ago it happened to me and as the door slammed shut, I got dizzy. The amount of toxic gas that the girl had left behind in the tiny cubicle reminded me of that visual images of the nuclear bombs landing in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

People must stop passing wind in lifts, the mess they leave behind is disgusting. On a separate day, I was waiting to get into a lift one evening after a hard day’s job. The elevator arrived from the top floors and out popped a very smartly dressed man, complete with the flower coat lapel. But as soon as the doors slammed shut, I regretted why I had not taken the stairs from the 16th Floor.

The tiny cubicle was engulfed in an ‘inferno’ of very strong odour. I tried to ignore it. After all, my mum taught me to always treat others with respect. It would have been disrespectful if I had held my nose and insulted the guy. Being a good Christian sometimes has its shortcomings. I felt like punching that guy on his nose as he stood there, pretending that nothing was wrong.

Then the second problem arose, two floors down, two very beautiful girls got into the lift. As soon as the door closed they too realised they had been trapped into a pungent gas chamber. They looked uncomfortable. This also made me uncomfortable, for I knew that there was no way they could tell who was responsible for the mess.

The real culprit and I were both suspects and that left me in in a very awkward situation. I was tempted to defend my image by declaring, “I am not responsible for the smell”. But then I felt that would have complicated matters further, with the other guy reacting angrily to defend himself.