Ugh. It hurts to think about it again.
I’m sure you’ve caught wind of my little ‘experience’ last weekend. If not, let me expound a bit…
I love to leave the office to get out. It gets me away from whining. So, when Griff (another engineer in the office) asked me to head off to grab a bite with him and a few others, there was not even a little twist of the arm to get me out. For some reason, he suggested that we head over to the base commissary so that we had a choice of a few restaurants. That’s when I saw it: Taco Bell.
I’ve always enjoyed a nice chalupa here and there, but that day I was totally pumped to garble my fried pita with caulk-like injected beef. It was cheap and calling my name. I pounded those two little guys like they were in trouble. (Not quite get-it-stuck-in-your-esophagus eat, but I downed those things). The other guys there continued to eat while I read the subtitles from CNN on the TV ten feet above my head.
Not 15 minutes later, it happened: the dreaded “GLAG-GLAAA-GLAAAAGGG” of the stomach. You know that one that every movie/TV show depicts by zooming in on the guys face while his eyes get big and begin to dart around looking for a bathroom? Yeah, that one.
I suffered through the end of the work day and got on the bus. That was torture. I was on the precipice of hurling, but had no idea when the upchucking would commence. I sat in the front of the van after letting everyone know that I may lose it at any time. I got home and Nate, the driver, said, “Well, you made it.” I replied, “No. We made it.” I tossed a half-smile/ half-wince, closed the passenger door, and walked towards my torture chamber for the night.
I have had food poisoning once before in my life from Wendy’s. It sucked hard. So, I knew that I had a long night ahead of me.
I suffered in the no man’s land between death and puking for about 5 hours. Then, at about 9PM, I lost it. It was a soothing color of pink (hot sauce?) .
Usually, there is a post-vomit euphoria. We all know it; when the muscles relax after the final “eur-OPE!” and you suddenly feel better. Well, food poisoning works a bit different; you puke and then return to your fetal position and whimper while waiting for the body to make more puke juice. Fortunately, there was a little reprieve after the puke and I got about 3 hours of sleep.
The rest of the night was like clockwork: Puke, get the puke sweats, sleep for three hours, puke, (ad nauseum – pun totally intended). This happened from 9PM to 10:30AM the next day.
At 12PM I began to feel the gargle of the stomach again and feared that I may have to tense the muscles once again. It was a false alarm; I had some colon pressure (if you know what I mean). Interestingly enough, the sensation is the same as waiting to vomit.
I parked it on my throne and I totally Levan’d. I have never in my life been so excited to have diarrhea. I knew the end was near and I enjoyed every last second of it. It was too dangerous to wipe, so I just jumped into the shower and warned Meghan that she should probably not come in for the next little while. I jumped from shower to toilet 4 times in about 20 minutes and was smiling the entire time.
It finally ended exactly 24 hours after I had downed the toxic chalupas.
Needless to say, I cannot go back to Taco Bell for quite a while.
3 comments:
Why do we as human beings continue to subject ourselves to the torture that is taco bell. I think its like Mike Myers (playing his scottish dad in So I Married AN Ax Murderer) says when He talks about KFC and the colnel with his wee beedy eyes he puts the secret ingridients in the chicken to make you crave it in the middle of the night. I have been there Paco. I feel your pain.
I love that Levan'd is now a verb. It is also the name of our family band. I hope you have recovered...at least physically. The mental recovery is going to take years. I still get the sweats when I drive past the Levan/Mills exit.
An ACTION verb I would say!!!!
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