Perhaps the least pleasant way to start a week is with a violent attack of Dianetics.* I was under the impression that my near-superhuman immune system had allowed me to sidestep the viral maelstrom that had recently laid waste to my household, but it turns out that I was foolhardy to finish my daughter's serving of pot roast after she had sneezed on it. Hubris, thy name is Diesel.
I thought the worst was over once the Dianetics had cleared my intestinal tract of harmful engrams, but man was I wrong. After the Dianetics came periodic bouts of Voldemort.** Yes, he-who-must-not-be-named treated me to seconds of that pot roast, not to mention everything else I had eaten the previous day. My life may not have flashed before my eyes, but I did get a good look at my recent digestive history. Apparently I eat a lot of purple stuff.
In my semi-delirious haze, my thoughts naturally turned to what is most important in my life: Coming up with a good blog topic. "Eureka!"
I would have shouted if I had the energy to make sounds with my vocal cords, "I should do a post of my Top Ten Gastrointestinal Ailments!" The fact that this seemed like a good idea at the time should give you some indication of just how sick I really was. Fortunately I came to my senses and cut the list down to five:
5. The time I came down with a stomach flu the day before my final exams my sophomore year in college. On the plus side, I was able to reschedule 3 of my 4 exams for several days later, garnering some much-needed additional studying time (not to mention that it's easier to borrow the textbooks you never bothered to buy when your classmates don't need them any more). On the minus side, my religion prof wouldn't let me reschedule because he was a big friggin' Scientologist.***
4. The time I drank 2/3 of a 2 liter bottle of raspberry wine cooler and threw up in my garbage can. Wow, is there a phrase that dates someone more than "The first time I got really drunk, I was drinking from a 2-liter bottle of raspberry wine cooler"? Can't you just hear the
Lost Boys soundtrack blasting from the tape deck of my friend's dad's car? I was 17 and I thought it was a shame to waste the rest of the bottle even though I weighed about a buck ten and was pretty wasted after drinking half of it. To my credit, this was the last time I ever threw up from drinking too much. Most of the kids in my high school weren't nearly that smart.
3. The time I slept on the bathroom floor after the Better Than Ezra Concert. My wife's birthday a few years back. I took her out to a surprise dinner and concert. The surprise? Salmonella in the clams vongole! This was when I perfected the "porcelain pivot," where the goal is to switch from Voldemort position to Dianetics position as quickly as possible. (Note: The "reverse porcelain pivot" is not recommend for amateurs. Or anyone, really.)
2. The time I ate tainted fast food after a trip to Disneyworld. College spring break trip. Late night stop at McDonald's. Then, six words that I now realize that you should take VERY seriously: "These McNuggets taste a little funny."
1. The time I threw up in my college roommate's brother's sink in Berkeley. This is one of those experiences that was so absurdly horrible that I'm almost glad that it happened so that I can blog about it.
A friend of mine from college, whom I'll call College Friend, was visiting his brother, whom I'll call College Friend's Brother, in a city about an hour and a half from my house, which I'll call Berkeley. The three of us got together for dinner and drinks. I hadn't seen College Friend for years. I had met College Friend's Brother a few times, but we weren't exactly friends. I had to work the next day, so the plan was for me to sleep at Brother's apartment and leave from there in the morning. Brother lived in a tiny apartment, so College Friend and I were to sleep in the living room. College Friend had an inflatable mattress or something and I got the coveted futon.
As I lay there my stomach started to feel a little queasy, but I figured I had just had too much to drink. I spent about an hour lying on the futon with my eyes open, trying to get the room to stop spinning. Eventually I fell asleep.
I was violently awakened by none other than Voldemort himself. I didn't even have a chance to sit up before the Evil One laid waste to the futon and surrounding area. I don't know if it was something in the steak I had eaten or what, but whatever it was, it wanted OUT.
I sprang up from the futon as quickly as I could and ran to the bathroom before he struck again. Unfortunately, I only made it as far as the sink. Pow! Voldemort sprayed the sink with his noxious effluent.
Fortunately, after these two brief eruptions, Voldemort left me alone. I didn't even feel terribly sick, although of course I wasn't feeling exceptionally proud of the type of houseguest I had turned out to be.
I rinsed out the sheet that had covered the futon, mopped up the floor with toilet paper, and cleaned the sink out as best as I could. Amazingly, neither College Friend nor Brother had woken up during my performance.
Sadly, no amount of toilet paper was going to restore my futon's innocence, and the sink was hopelessly clogged. I looked around for a plunger, Liquid Plumr, Dran-O, or any other suitably misspelled plumbing product -- perhaps Sync-Kleer or Barph-B-Gon. Unfortunately I found nothing stronger than Cool Mint Listerine. Now what? Leave a note saying "Thanks for letting me stay at your place... Don't use the sink because it's clogged with chunks of prime rib"?
I got in my car and began driving aimlessly through Berkeley. For all its reputation as a party town, you'd be surprised how difficult to buy a plunger at 3 in the morning. I drove and drove, eventually getting on the highway that would take me back to my house. I wished there was something I could do to rectify the situation, but there was nothing open. I would just have to go home and call College Friend's Brother in the morning to explain what had happened.
Then I saw it: A 24-hour K-Mart, right off the highway. There was even an ATM just inside. I went on a late-night shopping spree, hit the ATM, and then drove back to Brother's apartment.
I attacked the sink with an arsenal of plumbing products and after 20 minutes or so, I finally managed to get it to drain. By this time I was shaky and exhausted. Unbelievably, neither College Friend nor Brother had woken up during this ordeal.
I stood there for a moment, wondering what etiquette demanded of one after one has puked all over a college friend's brother's futon. Should I wake them? Leave a note? Send a "Sorry about your futon" condolence card? Lacking any suitable precedent, I decided that I would have to set the benchmark of appropriate response in such circumstances.
I left a clean sheet and $200 in twenties next to the futon and drove home.
*As this is a family blog, I will be using the pseudo-scientific term "Dianetics" in place of the word normally used to denote a violent, runny discharge from the anus.
**I think you can figure this one out.
***Ok, not really, but if he was a body part he would have been the one that spews Dianetics.
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Labels: Anecdotes, Exemplary Police Work