Ya Smell Me Cuz

We’ve all been there. You’re in the club, possibly having the time of your life or maybe you’re just trying to survive till 3am so you don’t look weak in front of your mates. The dancefloor could be packed like a tin of crushed (and sweaty) sardines, or you could have the space to cut shapes like you only ever thought possible in dreams. Then it hits you. The unmistakable smell. Someone has clearly farted.

If it isn’t clear at first, regularly it will become so when some brave soul makes a hand signal to signify the release of gas. Maybe they’ve gone for the simple nose pinch, or possibly they’re more of the hand wafter type, desperately attempting to disperse the poisoned air and regain that regular supply of oxygen. I’ve once even seen a guy pull his t-shirt up over his nose as what I can only presume was a make-shift gas mask. Or maybe he just had some nice cologne on and wanted to remind himself of it, who knows? When I see this person, my mind usually regresses into primary school laws of logic and the golden rule “whoever smelt it dealt it” springs to mind.

Next though my brain shifts gears, (it’s probably important to state at this point that being inside a club also means that I am in no way sober, because I’m only human). I start to wonder whether I myself am the guilty culprit. I’ve never felt myself pass wind in a club, but surely I’ve done it if I smell it on such a regular basis. Like I’ve already stated my senses are already dulled at this point by whatever vague alcohol I’ve consumed, and hey maybe the sensing my body fart is one I completely lose when pissed. I mean I’d like to think I’ve never farted in a club, and I tend to believe I have excellent control of my buttocks, but maybe I’ve just been fooling myself for all these years.

My paranoia tends to give up at about the same time the fart smell seems to disappear naturally. The fart quickly becomes a phantom and I start to doubt whether it truly existed at all or whether it was just some sort of nasal hallucination. Then I stop caring and get back to dancing like the gawky white boy I am. I don’t really know what the point of this article is, other than to say I think people fart in clubs a lot and I’d rather they didn’t because I go slightly insane when they do.

Harry Rosehill