Dear Guy Who Farted in the Elevator

Dear Guy Who Farted in the Elevator,
Listen, we all know it was you, okay?
How do we know that?
Well, allow me to rephrase that, actually.
“We” don’t know that you did anything. Because the “we” in this little story? Well, it’s really just me.
So given the fact that there are only two people in this elevator and I’m one of them, so I know for sure that I’m not the culprit, by the power of my Sherlock-ian deductive reasoning, I figure it was probably you.
Besides, if it had been me, you probably would’ve heard me laugh to myself a little… or at least awkwardly avoid eye contact for the rest of the ride down.
But the whole “awkward avoidance” thing is, well… it’s just kinda awkward. It’s not like it accomplishes anything either.
The smell remains. We still both know it was you. It’s just not a great situation.
Especially given that in this scenario, the elevator effectively becomes a slightly roomier, steel dutch oven.
So I’d like to end with a few words of wisdom that I’ve learned over the years.
He who smelt it is not always the one who dealt it.
You don’t need to deny it to be the one who supplied it.
Rather, when there are two people in an elevator and one of them farts, sometimes it’s just best to fess up.
Or in your case, it might jus be easier to look down shamefully at your shows while holding your breath for the remaining 8 floors.
Either one works.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

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