The success of the recent Artemis moon mission has caused many Americans to feel uplifted and inspired.

Uplifted because we could all imagine leaving Earth and its countless botherations — especially the Kardashians — behind. Inspired that four brave souls managed to accrue nearly 700,000 frequent flyer miles despite the TSA situation.

For us Boomers, the name Artemis evokes memories of the 1960s TV program “The Wild Wild West.” Artemus Gordon was Secret Service agent James West’s sidekick. But Artemus was more than just an ordinary aide-de-camp. He was also a gadgetry wizard and a master of disguise. Artemus was the kind of pal who would arrive just in time to save the day, masquerading as a little old lady who was hiding a Gatling gun beneath her voluminous skirts.

The Artemis moonshot was a throwback for the Boomer generation. After all, we remember the historic day when Neil Armstrong and Buzz “Buzz” Aldrin landed on the Sea of Tranquility and hopped around in the moondust like overcaffeinated bunnies.

We went to the moon five more times, but nobody can recall who the astronauts were or where they landed. I think we stopped going to the moon when it was proved beyond all doubt that it didn’t have any Starbucks.

When my wife and I visited Galveston some years ago, we decided to take a Lyft to the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center in Houston.

Our chatty Lyft driver was from Cuba. As he drove, he told us that he thought that all the Apollo moon landings were fake, a series of slick Hollywood productions.

“A satellite called the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter is circling the moon as we speak,” I said. “It has a high-resolution camera that has taken photos of the Apollo landing sites. Not only can you see the LEM bases, but you can also see the refuse that the astronauts tossed out before they blasted off.”

Our driver considered this for a moment. “OK, now I believe that we went to the moon,” he said. “It’s just like us to go someplace and leave trash behind.”

The Apollo 17 command module was on display at the Space Center’s museum. It was surrounded by a low fence that had placards that read “do not touch.” The crowd was thin and nobody was looking, so I reached out and touched the capsule’s door. I instantly felt a direct connection to the Apollo program. I’m expecting a sternly worded letter from the museum any day now.

The Artemis capsule has 60% more space than the Apollo command module. Having viewed an Apollo capsule in person, I can see why the astronauts who rode in it said that they felt like canned meat.

The Artemis mission was essentially a ten-day camping trip, albeit one without any fast-food drive-throughs or pullovers at rest stops. It’s the latter thing that would concern me the most.

The Artemis capsule suffered a bathroom malfunction shortly after launch. The loo boo-boo was soon fixed, but a few days later there was a problem with a frozen urine disposal pipe. And trying to “hold it” for a week wasn’t an option.

Any crewmember who had consumed several cups of strong coffee was probably feeling stressed. And it was the entire crew’s problem if one of its members had recently downed a super-spicy gas station burrito.

My sole camping experience involved four people sharing cramped quarters and unforeseen dangers.

My wife and I and our two sons, who were four and six at the time, flew to California to visit my wife’s aunt and uncle. We slept in their camper, which was about the size of a sardine can.

The boys bunked in a loft that was located above the bed where my wife and I slept. My wife was awakened in the middle of the night when I emitted a thunderous “OOF!”

Thinking that I was having a heart attack, she sat up to see what the matter was. Our eldest son had rolled off the loft and crash-landed on my midsection. He didn’t even wake up. We let him remain in our bed, thus averting further slumber malfunctions.

The impact produced an anomalous intestinal overpressure situation and an outgassing event occurred. My wife accused me of endangering the lives of the entire crew. I pointed out that the odor could have come from anyone.

We watched the recent Artemis splashdown on TV. I observed that one of the first things the crew did was open the hatch to let in fresh air.

“Someone must have eaten a burrito,” I said.

My wife looked at me and replied, “And that person is probably trying to blame it on somebody else.”

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.