Good Friday Wasn't Good To Me

When you work for one of the largest law firms in the country, I think it's fair to expect that the occasional special event lunch will include food that's prepared properly. Food that will not put you in personal peril. Alas, such is not the case. For I, your beloved blogger and confidant, participated in a catered lunch last Friday -- a Continuing Legal Education lunch on evidentiary objections to be exact -- during which I partook of a chicken wrap that looked much like the one you see above. Three hours later, I was puking so hard into my office garbage can that it felt like I was trying to expel a kidney.

It was 4:30 or so, I was working on a document on my computer, and all of a sudden, I felt this gurgle-gag in the back of my throat. You know the kind? Usually you get it after a long night of drinking and you know what it means because you're thinking back to how much you drank and you're like, oh fuck here we go. But when you're not shitfaced and you barely feel queasy and you get that feeling, you're not sure of the source, so you ignore it. That's what I did for a few minutes. But then my stomach started to roil and the feeling got more and more insistent. Something told me that a very bad man was coming to visit and I'd better get ready. So I got up out of my chair, shut my office door, and took off my sweater to prepare for his arrival. Two minutes later, I'm on my knees, yakking with irrational exuberance into my garbage can, which, fortunately, was made of plastic and lined with a heavy-duty garbage bag. Four, deep, stomach-emptying propulsions later, I still didn't feel better. I won't tell you what I saw or smelled, except to say that the newly departed included the chicken wings and burger I had for lunch the day before and two ill-advised, late night bowls of Corn Chex. Oh yeah, the chicken wrap was in there too.

Getting sick in your office is a surreal experience. There you are, on your knees, surrounded by books, your computer, your squishy toys, pens, business cards, inspirational sayings, post-its, pictures of family, all this stuff that's perfectly innocent looking on most days. You're at your place of business, after all. But in your moment of private hell, these accessories are icing on the cake of disbelief at what you're doing and where you're doing it. You're puking in your office in the middle of a workday. There's something wrong about that. It's like flashing your boss.

Anyhoo, when I was done, or thought I was done, I got back in my chair and sat there for a moment to regain my bearings. Tossed a piece of gum into my mouth, which did not do the trick. Then I put my sweater back on, opened my office door, and carted my garbage can to the men's room. Once there, I removed the liner and put the entire thing into a much larger garbage can that I'm really hoping the janitor removed over the weekend.

Believe it or not, even after all this happened, I thought I could keep working. I tried for half an hour. But 5:00 arrived and I was still feeling like shit, so I decided I'd better try to get home before rush hour. I had no desire to get stuck nose to nose with my fellow New Yorkers in a subway car on this day. Not five days before, I was fuming on the way to work because some stupid ass decided to get on the train when they were sick. They made that stupid "sick passenger" announcement that I hate, and I thought what kind of asshole gets on a subway when they're not feeling well? Why are people so damn stupid? Well, on Good Friday, I was the stupid asshole, and trust me, as my head was spinning at the Chambers Street stop, the irony was not lost on me. I thought I was done being sick, and I just wanted to get home asap and lie down. By the time I got on the J/M/Z, however, I was feeling queasy again and contemplating my public vomitation options. Option 1: Stand up, get close to one of the doors, or maybe exit to the empty space between the trains, and let er rip as discretely as possible (as if). Option 2: Open expensive leather murse, remove contents, and ruin it forever. Needless to say, Option 2 was not an option. Option 3 was to use every means of meditation mantra possible to hold it in until I got home. Option 3 worked. Barely.

I got home, removed boots, laid down, felt dizzy, had bedspins, got up, went to the bathroom, kneeled down, gripped the white steering wheel, and puked three more times. That last one really hurt. Finally, the tank was empty. So I went back to bed and slept for hours.

Thanks to a bad chicken wrap, it was a lost weekend for me. I spent Saturday on the sofa, watching too much college basketball and The Good Shepherd and Babel, two movies I hadn't seen before. I barely ate and didn't feel like doing anything except sleeping, watching t.v., and visiting the bathroom every 46 minutes. I'd like to say I was resurrected on Easter, but that didn't happen. I went out for a short walk, the only time I left my apartment all weekend other than to buy some Vitamin Water on Saturday, and I quickly got tired and returned home after only an hour. It's nearly midnight, and I'm only starting to feel normal now. Just in time for a new workweek.

So how was your weekend?