Up-chuck

This blog has been a long time coming and is about exactly what you think it's about. No, "up-chuck" is not a cute euphemism for something else completely not vomit related.

I'm going to tell you children a tale about the time when I blew chunks on myself at work. I'm going to try and make this as un-gross as humanly possible, but I do want you to feel my pain. Let's see if we can find a balance, shall we? If you have a weak stomach, move along.

I got to work one morning and I was in a cold sweat, which should have been a tip-off that I wasn't going to be OK that day, but no. I continued about my day as normally as possible, which proved to be relatively difficult considering I was laying my head on the tops of hangers just to cool off every four minutes. All my co-workers think I'm normal.

For clarity's sake (and because it will matter later) I was working with two other girls covering three sections of the store.

All of a sudden, I began to salivate. You guys all know exactly what I'm talking about. When you know you're going to throw up and you start to panic.

Good God, please don't let this happen.

So, I quickly ran to the bathroom, which, of course, is on the complete opposite side of the store. By the time I got there, my nausea had completely gone away. Oh, the irony.

So, I went back to my section and one of the girls I work with had just gotten back from lunch and brought me a bottle of water. I have work friends now.

I began to put clothes away and then a customer asked me to check her out, so we made our way over to the register.

The rest of the story goes something like this.

"How did you want to pay for *heave*...."

(long awkward silence because neither one of us wants to acknowledge what just happened)

"How did you want to pay for this?"

My life is an absolute joke.

All of a sudden I start sweating profusely and the room starts spinning. Cue the customer going into a long and detailed debate with herself on whether or not she should pay credit or cash.

Dry heave.

Shit.

I'm shaking at this point as I'm trying to put all of this customer's clothes in her bag. I barely manage to blurt out a "thank you" before I started sprinting to the restroom.

One thing I never ever do is run in public. Not like recreational running, but if I have to get somewhere in a hurry and I'm fully dressed, the best I will do is speed-walk. Mostly because I make fun of people who run through places that aren't gyms.

I made an exception here.

I begin to quickly walk out of my section...

Dry heave.

Oh, Jesus.

Keep on keepin' on, Syd.

Dry heave....

This is a joke. This is all a joke.

NOT dry heave

And just like that, I threw up into my own mouth. At this exact moment, I'm power walking at a relatively fervent pace past the MAC counter with my hand plastered over my mouth. My friend from training, Estrella, takes one look at me and says, "Are you OK?"

I shook my head. "HMRRPHHFHMMRFFF," which, apparently, means "no" in throw up.

I realize that I have a mouthful of vomit, and my body is NOT stopping. I will not make it to the bathroom at this pace, so I start to jog.

Heave.

WHERE THE HELL IS THE DAMN BATHROOM?!

I look over and see a door to the parking lot by the shoe department. Bingo. I decide I'm going to go outside and throw up like an animal. Maybe after all is said and done, I can eat some grass to make my tummy feel better.

I finally make it over to door, bust outside, and let go....all over my own clothes. I'm standing outside, legitimately crying from embarrassment since this is the first time I've thrown up sober in a long time. As I look up, I notice a man across the street standing by the parking garage. He walks over, hands me the towel around his neck and says, "You need it more than I do."

At this point, I'm dying. Covered in my own vomit and shame, I walk to the bathroom and rinse what I can out of my clothes.

Everyone in the bathroom watches me because we all know damn well what just happened to the poor, short, brunette girl standing by the sink with the mangled towel and smelling like ass.

Then, I have to go BACK TO WORK after tossing my cookies and wait until the other girl gets back from lunch. This takes about an hour

I then go to the offices and ask to go home.

Me: "I just got sick outside the shoe department. I'm sure there's footage of me on the security cameras."

Administrator: "That's going to be one attendance point, though. If you get three of those, you lose your position."

Me: "Would you like to smell me?"

And that's the story of how I blew grits all over myself and I'm pretty sure on one woman's shoes as I was making my way outside. I hope it was appreciated by the 4 people who read this blog.

Obsession: Snuggies. They really are the shit.