stinky cheese

Someone cut the cheese in the elevator we took down from the top floor of the parking garage Wednesday morning.  Whatever he ate must’ve died inside him because that elevator still reeked by the time it climbed up to our floor and we got into it.  All the way down B whispered under her breath, “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.”  She was terrified someone would get on and think one of us had done the dirty.  I wasn’t as worried, but I don’t like taking credit for other people’s handiwork, so it’s just as well the elevator didn’t stop to pick anybody else up.