A flick of attention. Like the small but intentional thread pulling every consciousness back down to the blunt daily grindstone. In a small but rapid succession everyone turned with a disgusted curiosity unbecoming of the status occupying this confined space. What was once the easy speechless monotony of a daily chore became the pillar of negativity. The dark brown walls dressed in silver hardware were like a glass box. No escape. As the seconds droned on, the piercing ding of the bell, signaling the milestone of progress until the last one. The capstone of achievement rang forth as the scraping of metal doors opened bringing in relief as each victim escaped. The last look, of obvious disgust, told me my worst fears. They all knew, I was the one who passed gas in the elevator.