NO JUDGEMENTS   
 
“My farts smell as bad as the next guy because, as often as not, my farts are blamed on the guy next to Me.”
– My Step Dad
 
My friend Scott, in town visiting from New York City, did not want to go back to the Hollywood branch of my gym. “Was it just me or was everyone farting everywhere in there?” He didn’t want to blame it on all the “foreigners” that work out at that gym, but before long he did.
 
Without much convincing I agreed to go to the branch of the gym he belongs to if he could get me in on a guest pass. He did handily and it didn’t take me long to realize that his gym is way better. The floors in the locker room were clean and clean not in a just-been-mopped-by-a-mop-full-of-pee way. There were plenty of free machines that didn’t feel like a sweaty metal bar you grab onto so you don’t fall down on the subway. And the people who working out actually looked like they were in shape and not visiting the gym for their once a month why-did-I-sign-up-for-this-shit-grudge visit. The girls were wanna-be actresses and thus shapely and the guys were gay and that plus West Hollywood equals shapely.
 
I started up on my choice of elliptical machines and begin to assess the slogan of this swell gym, “No Judgments.” I hate judgments that I don’t make myself so I felt at home and filled up with a sense of possibility when I noticed a familiar face get on a machine in front of me. Quickly I made a match with my facial database. It was definitely Steven from MTV’s Real World Las Vegas. Steven who works at gay bars but is so heterosexual that he has sex with a roommate that loves him but he only wants to fuck. So, he’s hecka straight. And hecka familiar to me since I watch the show whenever I see it’s on which is about three to four times a week.
 
I tried not to stare at him and he tried to not be stared at. The war was on the TV’s above him and that’s good TV so I watched it and him. I got tingly when an attractivish blond approached him. It was so him. He was talking just like he does on TV. I loved it and the catharsis of it let me relax and as my arms and legs moved rhythmically a noiseless waft of gas escaped from my ass. It was a large smell; compare it to the smell of a refrigerator filled with spoiled goods that’s finally opened after a month. It was so bad that if I ran away it follows and point me out like a waitress I stiffed. So I just focused on pushing up my heart rate and wishing the smell away.
 
Steven and the girl finished talking. The last thing she said was something like, “I’ve only watched a few episodes.” Dilettante.
 
She twirled and stepped towards the very large stair stepping machine next to me located at the absolute epicenter of the smell.  She started working out. I watched Steven’s face as it soured and soured.  After about a minute he got off the machine and stepped over to the girl next to me.
 
“Hey,” he said to her. “There’s a horrible smell that started when you were talking to me. I just want you to know that wasn’t me.” I knew he was implying that it was my smell. I did all I could to make my slight laughter seem like natural heavy breathing.
 
The girl smiled and tried to nod as she walked up stairs.
 
Then Steven walked away out of my life and back into TV. I wanted to say something before he left. I wanted to take responsibility for the smell because that’s the real world, bitch. It smells.
 
I kept working out for about twenty minutes, as did the blond girl next to me. Then I went and found Scott.
 
He was riding the stationary bike, grimacing at me. “That was you at the other gym, wasn’t it?” he said. “That was your fart. Every time? Was it following me around?”
 
I tried not to laugh.
 
“And that was you just now,” he said. “The girl next to me on the treadmill looked at me and fanned her nose and left. Like two other guys left, too. They all thought it was me.’
 
“Well, that’s the real world,” I said. “It smells.”
 
“YOU smell,” he said. So, I went and took a dump.

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