Something Foul Is In The Air

Excuse me if this column seems to go over the line, but I promise it is in the interest of creating a more civilized world. My apologies in advance. 

 Have you ever let one rip in public, insulting the sensibilities of innocent bystanders with your foul emissions? Do you let ‘em roar at ballgames so everyone within ten rows can hear you? Or rattled one off at a fine restaurant, thinking those at nearby tables wouldn’t notice? Have you ever set one off just as you passed by someone sitting on a park bench or run into a casual acquaintance you haven’t seen in years, reintroduced yourself, then ripped three crisp ones in quick succession in front of your friend’s young son? 

Thought not. Yet you may be surprised to learn that I’ve witnessed every one of these situations in just the past few weeks. No, I’m not talking about flatulence. Instead, I’m talking about a different sort of f-bomb, one that originates somewhat further north in the anatomy. And it’s one whose use seems to be reaching epidemic proportions. 

 What’s surprising is how similar these two nasty releases are. Though neither cause permanent damage, both are foul. Either can slip out accidentally, yet can almost always be controlled with a little self-restraint. Neither is likely to ease an already tense situation. And the most striking similarity? If the setting isn’t appropriate for one, it probably isn’t for the other. In a job interview? No. Church? Certainly not. Alone with friends? Perhaps. Hunting trip? Practically required. Sitting with your spouse? Depends upon your spouse. With your boss? Ditto. Trying to set an example for young children? Hardly. In public among strangers? Never. 

But here’s one way in which they’re different. A person who lets go with a gaseous sort will act rightfully embarrassed. Question the verbal offender, however, and you'll often get the “Hey, it’s a free country” look. Yes, it’s a free country and I will defend to the death your right to be rude, thoughtless and disrespectful, but you are being rude, thoughtless and disrespectful nonetheless. 

And that’s the thing. I have no problem with a well-placed expletive. I don’t even mind if my kids hear them. In fact, it’s not the word itself I have a problem with, it’s the selfish nature of the act. It’s no different than cutting the grass at 6 AM, carrying on a conversation in a theater or blasting music into the wee hours. There are things some people just don’t want to hear. We should all respect that. Which is what it all comes down to – respect for others. An inappropriate f-bomb is about as welcome as an f-bomb from one’s backside. Put in that light, it’s odd that some believe spewing them makes them cool in a Sopranos sort of way. To our public f-bombers, I’d argue there’s a better word – one that rhymes with cool – to describe how you come across. Try to guess what letter that word starts with.