Here's my question . . . how many times do I email back & forth with someone? At some point, I get tired of the emailing and need to talk to the potential date - I need to know if he is capable of carrying on a conversation or can at least do more than grunt in response. This is where my shy gene kicks in again - I want the guy to give me his phone number and ask me to call. But sometimes I get really tired of waiting for that to happen.
And now, it's story time . . . I've had several people tell me I should write down the crazy things that happen to me. So from time to time, I'll break up the monotony of not having a date to record a story for prosperity. The story I'm going to tell happened recently, and I'll only change details to protect the privacy of any other people involved. I shall call this story "Vomit"
I went to Ohio for Christmas, and drove back to EC on Dec. 30th. I left at the crack of dawn, hoping to get home in time for the Packer game at 3:30. I stopped in the Chicago area to pick up a student who needed a ride back to EC after spending holidays with family. (I shall assign this student to the male gender, and call him "Joe." And no, you don't know him.)
We chatted about Christmas and family - yadda yadda yadda. About 30 miles down the road, Joe mentioned his stomach hurt. I told him to let me know if I needed to pull over. He assured me he didn't need to throw up, his stomach just hurt. About 5 minutes later, he said "Oh no" and I asked him if I should pull over. He answered "Yes" and then immediately vomited all over himself and the passenger side of the car. I did what any sane person would do. I immediately rolled all the windows down and pulled over.
So, there we sit, on the side of the road. Windows down, Joe covered in vomit, and I have a total of 2 napkins in the car. I made Joe get out, take off his sweatshirt (he had a t-shirt on underneath) and clean the chunks out of the car. Joe, in a haze of post-vomit insanity, cried that he was ruining his favorite sweatshirt. Cold hearted bitch that I am, I made him throw his sweatshirt in the ditch when he was done cleaning out the car. His pants were covered in vomit, so I made him get clean pants out of his suitcase - and this is horrible because it was a windchill of, like, 80 below zero - I made him strip on the side of the road and change pants. Vomit covered pants also went into the ditch. Looking back, I am honestly amazed that I was so calm, cool and collected. I was freakishly calm. But really, what could I do? Freaking out would not get my only 4-months-old car clean.
We drove about 10 miles to a gas station. I sent Joe in to clean himself up. I bought Febreeze, paper towels and Lysol. I cleaned the car as best I could, nearly emptying both the Febreeze and Lysol, because I was starting to realize that whatever Joe had, I was at risk of getting. Most of the mess had ended up on Joe and the floor, so I figured I could rent a steam cleaner and clean the floormat when I got home. Joe got cleaned up, got plastic bags in case he needed to vomit again, and we were on our way. Thankfully, Joe soon fell asleep . . .
But that's not the end of the story folks . . .
About 2 hours later, Joe woke up. I asked him how his stomach was feeling and he said, "Better!" He then turned his face forward and PROJECTILE VOMITED ALL OVER THE WINDSHIELD. Because his vomit was warm and it was negative 180 degrees outside, all my windows immediately fogged over. Vomit was everywhere, I was driving 70 down the interstate and I couldn't see a thing. Somehow, I made it safely to the side of the road. I had Joe get out and used the remaining paper towels to clean up as best I could. There was vomit EVERYWHERE. When I turned on the defrost, little puffs of vomit sprayed out. There was vomit in the air vents, vomit in the CD player, vomit in the cup holders. The only thing I had to clean the windshield was Febreeze, which is not exactly a streak-free product. It was seriously like a bad 1980'd gross-out flick - except IT WAS REAL!!! I still feel guilty about the horrible vomit-covered litter I left in the ditch. Joe was pretty hysterical at this point, unable to believe that he had now vomited TWICE in my car. I was just wondering what the hell happened to the plastic bags I made him get after the first vomiting incident.
We got to another gas station, and once again I sent Joe in to get cleaned up. I promptly called my mum and cried hysterically for 2 minutes. I had to hang up because I needed to stop crying. Crying meant I would have to wipe my nose/eyes and I didn't want to touch my face because I didn't want whatever Joe had!!! I also realized that it was going to take professional help to clean my car, so I called my dear, sweet, amazing friend Cindy (her real name - she didn't vomit in my car) and asked her to text me the numbers of car detailing places in EC. I was relieved and grateful that one of the places had an open appointment for 1pm the next day - WHEW! Joe got back in the car and I made him open the plastic bag and keep it in his lap in case he needed it again. I may have threatened to put the plastic handles on his ears so the bag would hang below his chin. (By the way - I have no idea why the bag wasn't used in the 2nd vomit incident) Once again, we were on our way . . .
I should mention that Joe felt TERRIBLE. First, he was terribly sick and felt horrid. Second, he was terribly embarassed. I recognized that I had reached a point where I needed to laugh or cry . . . and I didn't want to cry because I didn't want to touch my face . . . so I proceeded to laugh hysterically for about 10 minutes at the absurdity of it all. We also played the "what would be worse" game - and decided that uncontrollable diahrrea would definitely be worse. Projectile vomiting on a bus full of people would also be worse. That was all we could come up with.
After more hours of driving with the windows down (the smell!), trying to see through the vomit streaked windshield, we were finally back in EC! I was so excited!! I had started to think that we were stuck in the Twilight Zone, a never ending continuum of projectile vomiting and driving . . . We pulled up to Joe's residence, and as soon as he got out of the car, . . . he projectile vomited in the street. I was just thrilled he didn't do it in my car. (Once home, Joe slept for 15 hours and felt fine.)
It was a long, horrible, gross, smelly trip home. But at some point in the trip, I had a moment of grace . . . Whenever friends with kids talk of having to clean up the biological messes their kids make (Hey mommy, I just puked all over my bed!) I have responded with "That's one of the reasons I could never be a parent!" I realized that I had cleaned up someone else's vomit not once, but twice. And it seriously didn't phase me. My moment of grace was realizing that you will do whatever you have to for the ones you love. Dear, sweet, sick and vomiting Joe is one of those I love.
I did get my car detailed on Monday. It smells and looks much better. There is just the slightest smell of vomit that can be detected when the heater is on high, but I can live with that. *Note to self: don't run the heater if you have a date in the car*
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