I remember the dizziness. It came about in a matter of seconds. One moment I was standing in my kitchen recuperating from an exhausting leg workout at the gym, the next I was clutching the counter-top for balance as I fell one knee on the area rug fronting the sink.
My wife and child didn't know what to make of this. They witnessed their never sick man of the house fall to all fours and vomit uncontrollaby. I simply couldn't summon enough energy to get my head above the edge of the sink and throw up in there where it could at least be washed away easily. Instead, plans for a new rug were in the works. But what was happening?
I vomited again and again and again. Sweat formed on my brow, my gut cramped and my throat burned even as my body attempted to evacuate a now empty stomach.
After a few minutes, I gathered up enough energy to get to the bathroom. Nothing more was to come out however so I commenced to brushing my teeth so I could lie down until this incredible, horrible feeling was over.
What happened? How could this come about when moments earlier I merely felt a bit bleh? I went from zero to 100 in like 90 minutes. What possibly could have.......................
The fucking Taco Salad from Taco Bell! It had to be the Taco Salad. I stopped at Taco Bell on the way home from the gym!
I missed work the next day. Something I've done (for illness) maybe 3 times in almost 20 years. I didn't eat or do anything but sleep and drink water the whole next day. By nightfall I felt much better.
This was March, 2006. I haven't been back there for a meal since.
Until........today. I had lunch at Taco Hell. Keep me in your thoughts!
My recent travels around the state for business took me by a pet cemetery which reminded me of a story ---
When I did time as a teenager working fast food I met a woman named Rose. Rose was a short, plump elderly lady who may have been as old as 70 and worked "specialty boards" which entailed their "non-hamburger" sandwiches. A widow, she drove a big, clunky, old, dirty yellow station wagon full of knick knacks and newspapers. She claimed the newspapers were due to the fact that she was studying the Jai Alai trends. I was sort of into Jai Alai at the time so we talked frequently about it, but she never actually went. Never.
It was unclear to me whether she worked out of necessity or boredom but I imagine it was a bit of both. Through her perpetually fingerprinted glasses she would tell tales of how great a man her late husband was and about her two dogs; one living, one recently deceased.
A cool thing about Rose was that every day she brought me cupcakes or Charleston Chews or Chocodiles or Snowballs or other crap foods that kids love.. It occurred to me at the time that she probably couldn't afford it but it made her happy and I got some free junk food for being nice to her. She always sought me out at the beginning of each shift with a cheerful "hello" and gave me my treat. As a consequence, I became protective of her when other employees would tease her or disparage her on the side. Although, everyone liked her.
This was a time, the early '80's, when most fast food staff were regular kids working to make a buck, so an elderly woman working there really stood out. I'm not sure it would be so today. It seems now, at least up here, its more older people and parents, many of whom from outside our country, trying to get by by making a living at it. I was merely trying to earn a few bucks for the movies, beer, gas and sometimes save money for college. I can't imagine trying to get by on fast food wages today.
One day, Rose asked me for a favor. Well, actually, she offered to pay me $10 to drive her out to her late dog's grave. The kennel/cemetery was about 15 miles out on back roads and I think Rose either was uncomfortable driving there or didn't trust her car or was bad with directions or just wanted company.
I thought about declining the request or at the very least, the payment, but I didn't. I agreed to take her for what amounted to more than three hours pay.
The trip entailed more conversation about her late husband, who was deceased for years and years and talk of her late dog, Blackie. Much of which I had already heard before. Today it is so painfully obvious how terribly lonely this poor woman must have been. I'm not sure I saw it so clearly at seventeen though.
The grave was beautiful. Set in a town of affluence, it no doubt is an indulgence for the better off as they bury and visit their lost pets. The area was and is complete with professional landscaping and smallish black marble headstones. I can only imagine it must have cost way beyond Rose's means but then this dog was obviously something special.
Rose cried. Standing at the tasteful grave, still in her Burger King uniform, she explained to me with a choked voice. how great a dog Blackie yet again and how much I would have liked him.
I stood there. Uncomfortable. Waiting for it to be over.
I remember the drive back we listened to some Elton John on the tape player. Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word merely elicited more tears from Rose yet she remarked what a beautiful song it was. When we got back to the restaurant she tried to pay me $15, but I would only take $10. I guess she wanted to tip me but a deal is a deal I said. I might even have had a tinge of guilt for accepting the money but I took it.
The next day I relayed the story to my best friend at work. Of course, he knew Rose. I told him about Rose crying at the grave.
His response? "Did you embrace?" Funny guy.
I DID think of hugging her or putting a hand on her shoulder while she knelt and tidied up at the grave . But I didn't. I wonder what I'd do if it were today.
Rose stayed and worked at the restaurant for many years after I left. I'd see her from time to time as a customer and chat for a minute or two. Then it all faded away. Of course, I'm sure she's long gone now. I don't remember her talking much about family or children or anything along those lines. I really hope she didn't pass away as lonely as she appeared.
From age 16 to 18 I did a three year stretch working for a major hamburger fast food chain. Three years in which I saw my wages skyrocket from a generous $3.37 per hour to $4.05 when I left. $4.05! Work a week and you live the life of luxury with about $138 in your pocket! Robin Leech called to do an expose but I turned him down. Yet, one of my managers STILL works there. From over twenty years ago. He must be a millionaire now. Anyway, I did every imaginable job there. Food prep, cash registers, etc. If I ever wanted back in, I'd have quite the resume.
Some of my many skills acquired......
Capable of separating frozen patties by prying with knife, slamming them on freezer sides or shoe sole and feeding burgers into a 1 million degree griller so quickly that it would occasionally stop up like some clogged flaming toilet.
Proficient at receiving said piping hot burgers, occasionally using tongs even, bunning them and putting them in steamer storage for 3, 4 or 8 hours without eating more than three an hour.
Able to condiment and wrap the burgers pursuant to industry "how-to" movies and in exact accordance with the Fonzi-type character's instruction (what'd he say? six ounces of mayo? 1/2 pound of onion? ok). Also, bought into what a cool place it is to work and that with his earnings he saved for his first bike! Damn! I only hope I could some day be a cool 42 year old fast food employee with a motorcycle. Bitchin'! Bet he gets all the babes.
Expert in working the frier which entailed cooking french fries, onion rings, or hashbrowns to perfection since the 80 dB beeper-thingy told me, oh 60, 70 times a day when perfection was. Also, posess the skills needed to salt some of the fries to stroke-threatening dangerous levels (b.p. 260 over 140), yet able to leave some fries entirely saltless and therefore flavorless. Furthermore, gained aptitude in fry-o-lating "other" things, some winged, some not, but none on the menu.
Apt at taking orders and goofing on drunk people in drive-thru during "cruise night" which at times meant reading back orders having nothing to do with the one they just placed. Even foods we don't even serve. "Ok, so that's a foot long Spicy Italian, Cherry Slurpee and a side order of oysters on the half shell? $6.95, please drive around".
Other experience/qualifications: Drinking after hours in restaurant or parking lot; Eating everything and anything in sight (1/2 price meals, hahahahahahah! good one! not hungry though); Stretching the limits of the "5 second rule"; Creating new and inventive soda/ketchup/milkshake/mayo/orange juice/beef/onion concoctions; Over-ringing certain $5 orders for that little extra spending money; Keeping a pickle chip in my mouth for an entire 8 hour shift (the rind survives, but apparently the center part begins decomposition around hour 4) and serving said pickle on a "special order" (the hysterical laughter/wretching of my co-workers as we peered around the milkshake machine and watched our victim taught us more more about teamwork than pseudo-Fonzi ever could); and, above all, sporting fake corduroy pants with rayon plaid shirt onto which was sewed a pants-matching fake corduroy vest and not getting my ass kicked for looking like a fucktard.
Thank you for considering my application. References, in the form of my two best friends and chief accomplices, available upon request.
