The Fart That Ended the World

a short story about holding it in

The Uber was running late and was about to ruin everything. 

Lisa and her husband Jimmy had just had a nice dinner with Vicky, Lisa’s friend from college, whom she hadn’t seen since her wedding about five years ago. 

It was a good, satisfying dinner with excellent service and the conversation was fun, interesting, and easygoing, even for Jimmy, who tends to be a little shy around people he doesn’t know. Jimmy and Vicky only met once at the wedding and didn’t get a chance to talk very much, so this was the first time they got to know each other - and they liked each other. They got along swimmingly. Jimmy thought Vicky was cheerful and good-humored. Vicky thought Jimmy was interesting and thoughtful. Lisa was ecstatic that two of the most important people in her life were with her and having a good time. The night was great. 

The plan now was to take an Uber back to Lisa and Jimmy’s apartment, which was only a block away from Vicky’s hotel. They would all end a perfect night with a nightcap or two at a quiet, laid back lounge in between the two places before saying good night, so glad to see you, and we should definitely hang out more often.

But that’s not what happened.

The Uber came. They got in. The driver said hello. The passengers responded in kind. The driver pressed the gas pedal. And somebody blew the most powerful, violent fart any human has ever produced. This is not an exaggeration or literary flourish. This is a fact. Throughout human history, no human being has ever emitted such an overbearing combination of sound and stench from their anus as the obscene concoction that occurred in this car. Everyone in the car thought they had been hit by another vehicle. The car shook and the windows rattled and the driver smashed the gas pedal in a stupefied daze. But there was not another car on the road. And once the olfactory assault began, that vigorous bouquet of angry, dirty ass and food half-turned to shit, everyone knew what happened - someone farted. 

But who?

VICKY

As the stomach-churning scent drilled into her nostrils, Vicky was sure she knew who did it. 

“It had to have been Jimmy. I didn’t trust that schemy-looking fuckboy the moment I saw him at that boring-ass wedding. He was so quiet and never smiled with his teeth - just that stupid little smirk like he knows something you don’t. The kind of person who doesn’t know anything you don’t but thinks he does. The worst kind. He definitely farted because he’s not saying anything. Look at him. LOOK AT HIM! He’s trying to hide his face - putting his nose into his shoulder - with that ratty old plaid shirt, like it doesn’t smell almost as bad as this hellish fart inside this car. GUILTY! Disgusting! And Lisa probably likes it. I’m really not surprised. When I first saw this guy, I didn’t understand what she saw in him. His looks are sub-par and he thinks he’s some kind of “writer” or whatever, so he obviously makes shit money. He did it, but Lisa probably encourages him to be nasty because she was nasty when we lived together in college. If you saw her out, she always looked well put together. But if you saw how she lived, you wouldn’t believe it. She never cleaned the bathroom. Always left her nastiness everywhere like she didn’t notice. Bitch - how do you not notice your own hair and shit everywhere? She’d never do dishes and leave bowls of week-old cereal or whatever in her room, attracting ants and roaches all the time. She definitely encourages that gross ass Jimmy to fart like this. They’re gonna have a nice laugh about it when they get home and then fuck. They get off on it! I know it! They are the two most disgusting people I’ve ever encountered and I don’t want to see either of them ever again. If I ever get out of this car alive, and I might not because my god this is horrible - I’m blocking her on Insta. You have to cut out the people in your life who don’t make you better. ”

LISA

As the smoldering fart continued to suffocate with methodical cruelty, Lisa was sure she knew who did it. 

“Am I racist if I think the driver farted if I don’t even know what race he is? He could be anything but, like, White I guess? Indian or Black or…what kind of accent did he have? Was it Jamaican or…oh my god, why am I even thinking about this? It doesn’t matter. This smell is the absolute worst thing I’ve ever encountered in my whole life, like, without any doubt whatsoever. I mean, are my lungs gonna be okay? Can you get lung damage from incredibly bad smells? Farts have toxins, don’t they? Cow farts are bad for the environment, so human farts must be, too, right? How long does it take for methane to kill you? I can’t believe this driver farted as soon as we got in the car! My god! I’ve never given a one star review but I might now. Ugh! Should I say something? We’re still like 10 minutes away. Wait, but what if I give him a one-star review and somebody notices that the only person I gave a one-star review to is Bla…Indi…could he be Colombian? I heard they have people that kinda look like….what’s his name? Wait. Don’t check. You’re profiling. Oh my effing god this smells so bad. It has to be him, though. Jimmy would never fart in a car, especially a crazy big fart like that. It was so loud! Like, maybe the driver eats some kind of food from his own country and the exported version gets all kinds of weird diseases during shipping, and that’s what caused the crazy fart. It’s really just another reason we need to reduce carbon footprints. Oh my god - I just realized this driver is a victim of climate change. He probably fled his country because of the rising tides and came here to survive and here I am accusing him of farting. I’m so horrible.”

JIMMY

Light-headed from the fetid aroma of a ferocious fecal flurry, Jimmy was fairly sure he knew she did it. 

“She’s just sitting there like nothing happened, staring at her phone, acting like she’s doing something important there. She’s not. She’s doing nothing. Thinking about nothing and feeling nothing. She probably can’t even smell it. Maybe she did it. The sound was too loud to have come from Lisa’s 5 foot 3, 110 pound body, but she has been taking all kinds of supplements and doing that weird raw vegan diet, so maybe, you know? Maybe she did it. She does look pretty embarrassed. It’s so weird if she let out the loudest and most horrific fart I’ve ever experienced at the same time I have been thinking about our marriage. It’s like a sign from God. I wish I believed in God so all this would make sense. A fart that makes me feel like I’m choking from the woman who is choking my life and ambition. Maybe I’ll start believing in God. What made you believe in God, Jimmy? A fart. A giant fart made me believe in God because it made me see that if I continued living the life I was living, I’d get covered in the biggest pile of shit you’ve ever seen. The fart was a warning. You know what? Maybe I do believe in God. This intensely ridiculous fart made me see the light. In the Bible, God is always clear about what he wants to tell you. Maybe this was that. Maybe this was like God sending the angel to stop Abraham from killing his son. I should start a podcast and talk about this.”

THE DRIVER

The driver knew who did it.

“Man, I gotta cut down on the dairy. That was a big one. I hope these people don’t know it’s me. I can’t afford another 1-star review because of my lactose intolerance. I got that last one taken off, but Uber won’t believe me if I get another passenger complaining about this. Maybe the best defense is a strong offense.”

As he pulled up to the drop off point, the driver put on his sternest face and turned around like an angry parent admonishing his children. He looked directly at Vicky with fierce eyes and a fiercer tone. He chose her because Lisa called for the ride and she and Jimmy were obviously a couple, and he didn’t want to anger her and get a 1-star review. It had to be Vicky.

“Young lady, you need to learn some respect for other people and go around farting in people’s cars like that!” he said.

Vicky became incensed.

“What!? It wasn’t me! You think that was me? It was Jimmy! Look at him! He’s a disgusting-looking toad. Of course he did it!”

“I’m a what?” Jimmy said. “And hold on. That wasn’t me. It was Lisa. She’s on that new vegan diet and…”

“How dare you!? Lisa shouted. “You think I did that? Because I don’t eat meat or dairy?”

The driver slouched a little in his seat when he heard the word “dairy” and vowed to really cut back on that stuff, despite his love for cookie dough ice cream. 

“And what did you call my husband?” Lisa told Vicky.

Vicky groaned and rolled her eyes, hating herself for the outburst but also because she was going to love doubling down on it, too.

“Your husband sucks, Lisa. He dresses like an alcoholic English professor and always smells like old tea. He definitely farted.”

Lisa  started balling. Her emotional levee broke and tears came out in a gush. 

“I thought you were my friend!” she said. “How could you be so mean?”

Jimmy jumped in to defend himself. 

“And actually,  there’s nothing wrong with the way I dress. I am a writer, after all,” he said.

“Oh, please,” Vicky said. “I’ve read your Substack. It sucks.”

This dug deep into Jimmy’s heart, and he was struggling to maintain composure.

“You obviously just don’t understand my writing,” he said. “Maybe it’s above your grade level.”

“Oh, please! An entire short story that’s just a monologue of a G.I. Joe action figure lamenting that he can’t move on his own? What kind of weak male psyche bullshit is that?” 

Jimmy’s composure collapsed. 

“You dumbass! It’s a metaphor for wanting a divorce and not being able to tell Lisa!”

The car went silent. The fart smell was still there, though fading. Lisa stopped crying - grief replaced by shock. She felt naked and hollow. In the back of her mind, she toyed with the idea that everything was a dream, though he knew this wasn’t.

Jimmy winced and kept his eyes closed, imagining himself on a beach far away, but involuntarily planning for the long night of arguing with Lisa  he had ahead of him - a reflex he had developed over five years of marriage. 

Vicky felt vindicated - she knew Jimmy was a fuckboy - and wondered if the martinis at that lounge were any good. 

“Guys,” the driver said. “Please get out.”

They all got out.