Consumerism

Last night I sat in the upper deck of Busch stadium surrounded by 47,900 baseball fans. A subtle breeze crept across my nose, a foul-ball landed just seats away, and the outfield glistened green. It was a perfect night, as every night seemed to be at the home of the Cardinals. The arch peaked over left field, the aroma was that of $6.25 bud light, and the bleachers were filled-in red. In a night where my days left in St. Louis had been limited to fewer than the Cardinals magic number, I fought hard not to cry at this beautiful site. But before I get sappy and sentimental, I would like to change the subject to the profound realization that I stumbled upon during the game.

While trying to keep my composure during a 2nd inning, 2 run cubs rally, naturally, I built up a bit of gas inside my colon. During a normal game, perhaps against the Giants, Mets, Red Sox (anyone besides the Cubs), I would have either held-in the gas and waited for an appropriate time for its release, or I would have slowly let it out, muffling it against the back of my seat. However, this game happened to be against the Cubs and there happened to be a young woman sitting in front of me, dressed in all blue and cheering obnoxiously for her consistently inconsistent squad. In this scenario, the scrupulous thing to do was neither of the above-mentioned options. This was a special situation and it called for special measures. So I scooted up a tad, so that I was nearly at the edge of my seat. I pushed off with my toes so that my knees were elevated and the proper airways were free, then I pointed at her ear and released. This way the gas wouldn’t get blocked by the back of her head, rather the breeze would twirl it around her cheek and into her sniffing zone.

To my surprise, and probably to hers as well, my passed gas smelled like urine does after eating asparagus. I thought back to lunch and realized I consumed some small pieces of chopped up asparagus in a stir-fried vegetable dish. I remember my urine smelling shortly after, but I hadn’t farted yet all day so I had no basis of comparison. Once I finally put two and two together, and realized that it was in fact the asparagus that affected the odor of my gas, I was in tears. Not because I was happy about this groundbreaking, new scientific law, not because Mulder had given up two runs, and not because Busch stadium was just weeks away from being blown up. I cried at the miserable feeling of betrayal. I have known asparagus for so many years, but have never known it in such a way. I thought we had an honest relationship, one based on nourishment and smelly piss. But worst of all, asparagus let me down when I needed it most. After all, she was a Cubs fan. When I committed to the point and fire, I was counting on a bitter, rancid result. Not the sweet, flowery, inviting smell of asparagus.

So here we were, asparagus and I. In a way we were consuming each other, yet ironically, we had never felt so far apart.