So, how was your evening? Mine was quite the adventure — if you don’t count the gas company arriving at my doorstep in Hazmat suits at 11 p.m. because I genuinely believed there was a gas leak threatening my family’s lives.
Here’s how it unfolded…
5 p.m.
We decided to dine at a local Mexican restaurant, where my kids seemed to have made it their mission to drive me to the brink of insanity all day. Tacos and margaritas were the only things that stood between me and a meltdown.
7–9 p.m.
After a typical two-hour bedtime routine, I was hit with an unmistakably foul odor. It was like rotten eggs on steroids. You might think all boys’ rooms have a ridiculous smell, but not my son Timmy’s. His room usually smells like cotton candy and rainbows — thanks to his vanilla-scented air freshener, of course. I thought for sure something had died in there or that an old sippy cup had resurfaced, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source.
I summoned my husband, Mark, for backup. We both sniffed around, trying to locate the origin, only to realize it seemed to be emanating from the vent above Timmy’s bed.
OMG, we must have a gas leak!
9:30 p.m.
Panic set in. Okay, mostly just me. Mark could remain calm in the face of a natural disaster. I began to feel lightheaded and convinced we were going to slip into a gas-induced coma if we stayed in the house any longer. So, we packed up and moved outside, even taking the sleeping baby with us.
When I tried to call the gas company, naturally, they were closed. My only option was to report it as an emergency. I reluctantly dialed 911.
Operator: “911, what’s your emergency?”
Me: “Um, I’m not sure if it’s an emergency. Is there a hotline for non-emergency emergencies?”
Operator: “What’s your location?”
Me: “I don’t think I need someone sent, but I smell something odd, maybe gas? I’m not sure.” (I was cut off)
New Operator: “This is the Fire Department. What’s your emergency?”
Me: (Oh no! They’re going to send sirens and wake the whole neighborhood!) “It’s not an emergency per se, but I think I smell gas. I don’t want to waste your time…”
Fire Department Operator: “Hold.”
While waiting to talk to the fire department, I heard Timmy whisper and point to his underwear.
Me: “Mommy is trying to figure out if we’re in danger — what is it? If you have to pee, just go in the grass.”
Timmy: “It’s not that.”
He lifted his blanket, and the most repugnant smell wafted out.
OMG, the beans. He devoured all those charro beans at dinner!
Me: “We don’t have a gas leak. We have a child with the worst gas problem in history.”
Fire Department Operator: “Are you still there?”
Me: “Oh yes, everything’s fine now. The smell is gone. We no longer need assistance. Bye.”
Fire Department Operator: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Yes, false alarm. Thank you!”
But that was not the end.
Apparently, once you call 911 regarding a gas leak, you can’t simply hang up and say “all good.” It’s like shouting “fire” in a crowded theater. There’s a protocol, and soon enough, a team from the gas company showed up in Hazmat suits.
Yes, this actually happened. They conducted tests around our house because Timmy had the most atrocious farts imaginable.
When they entered, I insisted I didn’t smell anything and that they could leave.
“Have a good night,” I said, trying to close the door.
“Nice try,” one of them replied. “Ma’am, we shut down entire malls during busy seasons for strange smells. We might even cut off gas to the whole neighborhood if we have to. Do you understand how serious this is?”
Me: “Yes, sir,” I replied, stepping aside to let them in, all the while worrying about my neighbors.
I shot Mark “the look” — the one that screamed, “Do not tell them the truth.” I also instructed Timmy to stay hidden in his room and not to speak to anyone.
The “gas team” thoroughly inspected our house, running tests in the attic and checking meters. Just another typical Monday night.
In the middle of it all, I found Timmy curled up under the covers, terrified.
Timmy: “Are they going to know it was me with the stinky fart and take me to jail?”
Me: (stifling laughter) “Not this time, but if it happens again, who knows?”
After two hours of inspections, they concluded there was no gas leak (which we already suspected) and left, baffled by the lingering smell. Thank goodness they were oblivious to the truth.
So, all ended well, except I had to sleep with nose plugs that night, but at least we were safe. I’ll chalk it up as a win.
Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have let Timmy devour four massive bowls of beans at the restaurant before causing a 911 scare, but hey, sometimes parents indulge a bit too much — especially after a few margaritas. We’re all human, right?
From now on, we’ll definitely check our child’s backside before making any emergency calls.
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Summary:
This humorous recounting details the chaotic evening when Jessica mistakenly believed a gas leak was endangering her family, only to discover that the source of the awful odor was her son’s excessive flatulence after consuming too many beans at dinner. The story highlights the panic and subsequent visit from the gas company, showcasing the often absurd situations parents find themselves in.
Keyphrase: funny parenting story
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