I spent a great deal of time this week being productive--productive in puking. I was puking like a champ for two whole days due to a stomach virus. Let me tell you this about myself: when I get a stomach virus, I go hard or go home. If you don't believe me, take a look at this earlier post about international puking (make sure you have some time on your hands--it's worth it).
Between hurls of Exorcist proportions, I started thinking about my resume of puking. I have a fairly impressive one, but for whatever reason, LinkedIn doesn't find that to be a marketable skill. Whatever. They just don't know. You never know when you're going to need someone who can hurl across an entire yard and hit a target at fifty paces.
Five years ago, I would've been disappointed that the following tale hadn't been caused by drinking or something else fun like eating an entire pizza.
Anyway, at the beginning of sixth grade, there was a girl in my class that I was good friends with. We hung out, I met her parents, we bought each other Christmas presents, went to each other's birthday parties. At some point in the year, things changed, unknowingly for me. At one point, she wrote me a very long and articulate letter telling me what a terrible person I was and that she hated me. She also told me I dressed like a baby--a comment she would be very sorry about today. She had placed her heartfelt commentary through a locker vent, letting it hang out enough that I would notice it first thing. She hung out at her locker and watched while I read through it, and eventually started to cry. Nice, huh? I later found out that there was a teacher who facilitated the whole thing. Bad, Teacher--bad.
I got my revenge about a week later, though not intentionally. My only regret was that Teach hadn't been in the room when it happened.
As with any good stomach virus, I started feeling kinda weird on the drive to school. I didn't say anything because--you'll think this is weird--I hated missing school. Even back in the 90s, daytime TV was terrible. Maybe I should start telling kids this whenever they're faking sick to go home.
Anyway, I reached school and homeroom. At 7:45 am, it was like any class--utter pandemonium. It was not doing wonders for my symptoms. The more it went on, the worse I felt. Then, ex-friend came over and decided to hold a conversation right in front of me. It was probably about me, but that's not really pertinent at this juncture. I kept saying, "I don't feel good", and still she stood there.
I know you know where this is headed, but hang with me, because this is good.
I finally said, "You should really move." She was turned to the side and looked at me with eyes in narrow slits, and then it happened.
Oh yeah, I puked on her. But I didn't just puke on her. I puked IN…HER...HAIR and IN…HER...FACE. Oh yeah! I nailed it in TWO spots. TRIPLE BONUS!!! I hit someone in two spots, and it was someone I didn't like.
My mother has always said I have an impeccable sense of timing. The entire class came to a standstill.
At that point, one of us was screaming; the other was crying. You could try to guess who was doing what and you'd probably be right, regardless of the guess. We were both sent home from school immediately thereafter. It was a Friday. She spent her weekend getting her hair cut , and I spent mine continuing to puke. In fact, that was the beginning of a week-long puking stint during which I lost eleven pounds. Yeah (don't be jealous--it was no fun)!!!
However, I would be lying if I said nothing good came from this. I would cite the weight loss, but as I was only four feet tall at the time. That really wasn't healthy, nor would I recommend puking to do it. No. Now when kids come to me puking and crying because they're embarrassed about it, I tell them this story. They generally look at me in horror with the look that says, "Wow, no matter how bad this is, at least I didn't do that!" Even the little kids know that's gross.
That being said, I guess it would be a bad idea to encourage the young'uns to aim for someone they don't like the next time they feel the urge to hurl. It was just dumb luck that it happened for me. But it's probably still considered bad form, isn't it?