I was always the youngest kid in the class–I barely made the cut-off date to start school when I did. And I was skinny and scrawny and shy, which meant I was prime picking-on material. I don't remember what grade it was when this happened, but it was traumatic. I'd developed the habit of going up to the pencil sharpener whenever I need to fart. That way if it was a smelly one, I wouldn't gas out the people next to me, and wouldn't get mercilessly teased. Or if there was a little bit of noise, I'd be far enough that no one should hear it.
Alas, the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley, and this particular day I did not take into account that because of the oppressive heat of the day, the fan that stood in the front of the classroom would carry the unfortunately unpleasant aroma to the whole classroom. Instead of humiliating myself around 5 people, the whole classroom knew exactly what I had done. It was awful. Seriously.