By Sherry Wickers—There are some things that we may choose to ignore for the greater good. For example, when a child has a hideous facial scar, we choose not to say anything so that we may spare the child's feelings. And, after all, it is not their fault that they have a disfigurement, so what good would it bring to point it out. Like all other compassionate people, I wait until the child is out of earshot before I mention to others just how distracting the scar is. This is just common decency.
However, what baffles me is the fact that everyone in this train car is apparently willfully ignoring the fact that this service dog two seats away has emitted one of the worst instances of flatulence my nose has ever endured. When I first noticed it, I thought perhaps it was something from the on board restroom in the same car. However, within about 5 seconds, it became clear that the ungodly smell was not of human origin. I fought the urge to open my mouth to scream in horror for fear of allowing some of the tainted air to enter through my lips. As I looked to the other 12 people in the car to find some sign that I was not suffering through the stench on my own, I was met with nothing. All were silently reading their books, or scrolling through their smartphone screens as if all in the world were perfectly in order. I never truly understood gas-lighting until that moment.
I felt as if I had fallen overboard from a ship, and although everyone else on board heard the splash, they all consciously chose to let me struggle against the current. I did not ask for much: just another look of acknowledgement, a gaze of understanding, some sign that I was not out of my mind. I needed confirmation that the dog had indeed farted, and it was not okay.
Why, I ask, did everyone choose to turn their backs to the truth? Was I the only person with the audacity to cringe at the stimulus?
What was it about the situation that did not merit shudders of disgust, gut-wrenching heaves, and loss of balance in everyone on that train car? Was it the collective will of the people, willing that the stench would dissipate? Did they have superhuman control of their faculties brought on by their respect for the dog's role as a service animal? I ask, would they have behaved differently had it been a feral animal brought onto the train by Animal Control? Did they fear offending the animal's master, whose disability was not apparent?
Perhaps I will never know the madness that occurred on the train car that day, but this I know: That dog farted. That dog farted, and it was easily the worst thing I had ever smelled. I'm not afraid to say it, the social consequences notwithstanding. I implore other helpless victims of inescapable dog farts to speak their truth. Do not let these animals escape your disapproving looks. Do not deny what you know to be true. You owe it to yourself.
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