Me and Mrs. MikeD recently took a two-week sabbatical in up-state New York. Like most trips of this sort, the drive to our destination was filled will excitement and trepidation. My colon, however, was filled with the digesting remnants of a pound of Vermont extra sharp cheddar; so the trip was also
filled with uncommonly putrid flatulence. I was weathering the odiferous assault, albeit not without noticeable discomfort. However, the tears at the corners of Mrs. MikeD’s eyes, and her stifled gagging belied a constitution that would not withstand the stench for much longer.
As the next bout of bilious gas bubbled through the pipes I unbuckled, and shoved my ass out of the car window.
She laughed.
I laughed.
She began gagging again as both her and I realized that my now vacated seat had retained a substantial amount of gas that was now free to diffuse throughout the automobile’s interior.
With my ass still poking out the window, I began beating the passenger seat to dislodge the stench.
She giggled at the spectacle I was making of myself.
I giggled at the spectacle I was making of myself.
A dashboard light switched on, indicating that the passenger-side airbag had been automatically deactivated. We seemed to simultaneously take notice, and we both watched the light switch off as I sat back in my seat.
She seemed somewhat disconcerted that the car would so nonchalantly accept the disappearance of a passenger whilst in loco.
We came to the conclusion that the vehicle should alert the driver to the disappearance of a passenger, and proceeded to test the effect:
I shifted my weight off of the seat, and as the indicator light switched on, Mrs. MikeD repeated in a cheery automated voice “Ding. Check vehicle for front right passenger.”
This should be standard.