To the woman trapped in the FR-1 with me at the Quendle Heights farmers market (Quendle Heights)

OK so first of all, that was not my Fart Room. I want to be clear about that. It was a floor model at the ClearAir booth and I leaned on the activation panel. I know you know this because you were standing right there when it inflated and the look on your face in the 3.9 seconds before full deployment is something I will take to my grave.

We were in there for eleven minutes while the booth guy looked for the override key. Eleven minutes. In a 4-by-4-by-6.5-foot sealed containment membrane. With a stranger. At a farmers market. In July.

You were incredibly gracious about it. You said "well, this is happening" and then you asked me what kind of tomatoes I was looking for like we were just two people having a normal conversation and not standing chest-to-chest inside an inflatable fart prison at 2 PM on a Saturday.

I panicked and said beefsteak. I don't even like beefsteak tomatoes. I'm an heirloom guy. I was just too flustered to think straight. You recommended the vendor with the purple awning at the end of row 3 and I went there after they let us out and you were right, those tomatoes were incredible.

I should have asked for your number. Instead I asked for your tomato guy. Which I got. But it's not enough.

You were wearing a green apron and you had flour on your elbow. I'm the idiot who doesn't know his own tomato preference. Please reach out.