- zoe3655
- Dec 21, 2025
- 1 min read
Updated: Dec 22, 2025

I was in such a lovely place. Somewhere people chat, work on laptops during the day and settle early hunger pangs with pizzas, made on-site, in the early evening. It was one of those rare spaces that feels tranquil even when it’s buzzing.
Outside, darkness had spread without me noticing. I looked up from my screen, stretched my neck and released a small sigh of satisfaction when…
A man, seated slightly to my left, released an unapologetic belch.
It hung like an omen, filling the air with the resonance of his belly’s receipt, delivered without care. It was an intestinal, guttural growl that cut through my peace.
I was entirely unprepared for it.
It was disgusting.
Nobody else appeared to flinch. Surely they noticed. You couldn’t not notice. And yet the communal space seemed to absorb the noise as if it were just another background sound.
I, meanwhile, sat there wondering whether something had just gone really very socially wrong!
Surely, at least acknowledge the unsavoury episode? A quick “sorry”. A hand over the mouth. Some small signal that the person responsible understands they’ve briefly dragged the private workings of their body into a shared space.
Because, I believe, places like these run on quiet agreements. I’ll tolerate your keyboard tapping if you tolerate my sighing. I won’t comment on your phone call if you don’t broadcast your digestive system.
It’s probably fair enough that he couldn’t help the expulsion of gas, but I’m not asking for much... Just the bare minimum acknowledgement that some things belong to the body, not the room.
It’s not just annoying, it’s unforgivable.



