Culture Shock #12: Germans have absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever

Brace yourselves, because this may just be the most harrowing culture shock I've encountered yet. 

GERMANS DON'T THINK FARTS ARE FUNNY. 

It's taken me a while to finally come to this conclusion. I think I've been in denial for years, if not decades. I remember afternoons spent at Pauline's house in which a passing fart elicited not a giggle, not even an acknowledgment, from surrounding company. At that point, I figured it was just a bizarre Pauline's Family thing, and I tried to stifle my post-fart laughter at her house as best as I could (only Henrike can speak to my success on this front). 

Then I moved here and it was more of the same.

The final straw, the moment I knew it was not just a Pauline's Family thing but a German thing, happened yesterday. I was working at our after school program -- the chillest part of my day which mostly just involves eating and playing games with the kiddos whose parents don't get off work until 5pm. On this particular afternoon, I was playing the board game Sorry with a tiny pipsqueak of a kiddo. Like, I-have-to-make-sure-not-to-trip-over-her-during-after-school-program tiny. Anyway. I was in the middle of my turn when I was interrupted by the all-too-familiar rumbling bass of a good toot. I immediately looked at the pipsqueak -- now culprit -- across from me, a grin already spreading on my face. My instinct to laugh quickly faded as I was met with a deadpan expression. From an elementary schooler. Who had just farted. Like, very audibly. My grin was now a grimace of confusion. Had I imagined it? Am I so sleep-deprived that I am now hallucinating fart noises? 

We kept playing like nothing happened. A couple of minutes went by. Then, again, this time even louder. This time I was sure I didn't imagine it, such a triumphant timbre, however disproportionate it may have seemed to the size of the body sitting across from me. When I received yet again no reaction from the pipsqueak/culprit, I looked around at the other kids in the room, desperate for someone to acknowledge the reality I was currently being subject to. Alas, nothing. Absolutely no reaction from anyone. 

Before I could fully process this matrix of a situation I was suddenly in, Toot Number Three came barrelling into my consciousness. This time, I wanted to scream because my reality was undoubtedly the following: There was a tiny child sitting a foot away from me absolutely ripping ass and I wasn't allowed to laugh. 

I am convinced that this experience was a glimpse into my own personal hell, in addition to being formal confirmation that Germans (not even LITTLE GERMAN KIDDOS) find passing gas an amusing pastime. As for those who are now worried that I will lose my impeccable sense of humor to these absolutely heartless Germans, have no fear. I have a Dutch roommate who thinks farts are just as funny as I do.