Last night our staff went to Cracker Barrel to celebrate Brittany's birthday (number twenty-three). Dinner was great, and I brought fruit pizza for dessert, per Brittany's request. Our waitress Tiffany was super sweet, and she refigerated the fruit pizza for us during dinner and then brought it out to us for dessert.
While watching Brittany open her gift and cards, The Ghetto Cowboy and Yanuzo's 15-year-old Kid decided to be a moron and take a dare to eat 10 little green peppers out of the jar of 
Louisiana Tabasco Peppers in Vinegar. Brittany had eaten one, and The Kid was trying to show her up by eating 10. The only caveat was that The Kid is a total wuss and he was taking forever to eat those suckers. He kept acting like he was going to do it, and chickening out. And then Ben & Travis would count him down, and he would wimp out. I was rather annoyed by the whole deal so I finally reached across the table, grabbed all 10 of them in my hand and shoved them in my mouth.
Louisiana Tabasco Peppers in Vinegar. Brittany had eaten one, and The Kid was trying to show her up by eating 10. The only caveat was that The Kid is a total wuss and he was taking forever to eat those suckers. He kept acting like he was going to do it, and chickening out. And then Ben & Travis would count him down, and he would wimp out. I was rather annoyed by the whole deal so I finally reached across the table, grabbed all 10 of them in my hand and shoved them in my mouth. Instant pain. Instant regret. And it only got worse. A huge wave of nausea overtook me as I was trying desperately to chew and swallow. Ben handed me a slice of fruit pizza so I could try and neutralize some of the acid. No dice. Another wave of nausea. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in the handicap stall.
Now what you need to know here is that I never throw up. There was The Great Purge of 08, but other than that my food stays where it belongs.
But that handicap stall in the Cracker Barrel bathroom in North Lakeland will never, ever be the same again. We're talking projectile vomit. It took me by complete surprise, and there was no stopping it. I completely missed the toilet at first and got my shoes, my jeans and the floor instead. On the second heave I got closer, but still got the toilet seat rather than the bowl. By the third, fourth and fifth heaves I was where I needed to be, but the damage was already done.
By the time I got out of the bathroom, my nose was running, my eyes were glazed over and my face was completely white with that dumb, stunned look on it. I felt so bad, and tried to clean what I could. I stopped at the hostess stand and informed the poor little old man that I had desecrated the bathroom. He was probably silently thanking Jesus that he was not a woman and unable to get into the bathroom to clean it.
All in the name of a challenge.
4 comments:
I hope you used those precise words:
"I desecrated the bathroom."
Hilarious.
amazing story. i laughed. i cried. i vomited projectile vomit.
Who celebrates their 23rd birthday at Cracker Barrel? Maybe 73rd.
I am sorry Francine about what happened but I laughed so bad. It was the image of you heaving that really set me off.
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