I went to New Orleans for work this week. I went with two coworkers, Bob and Jeff. We got there Monday, came back Wednesday. None of us had ever been there. It was neat. We cruised Bourbon Street:
And we found a band of about 20 people playing crazy awesome music:
(yes, these are terrible photos but it’s all I got) (I might try to get the video clips Bob recorded of this with his iPhone and post them on my blog later)
We got our work done and got home safely. It was a great trip!
We went to a restaurant on Monday night. I had never eaten oysters before. I had four raw ones on the halfshell. We also ate a bunch of great grilled ones, some gumbo, hush puppies, and bread pudding. We all ate the same things, the only difference was our gumbos. Ha! That’s a funny sentence to me, so I’m going to make it this post’s title.
(As far as I can remember, I’ve only had one food-borne stomach issue in the past. It happened 5-6 years ago and it was from a certain fast food restaurant. I don’t want to say the name of the restaurant to put it in a bad light, because I still like the place and go there sometimes, so I’ll just call it “Shmendy’s.” This is the same kind of thing as what happened with Shmendy’s, only worse.)
3:30 am. I wake up in my hotel room and I feel siiiick. I know where this is going. I can’t change the future. I enter the bathroom and begin a heinous saga of getting ill and sick and other words that used to just mean bad things but are now also used as positive exclamations/descriptions (“Stoopid” never seemed to catch on, did it?), and here I’m using them as softer replacements of more common expressions, such as “getting sick to my stomach,” or, “vomiting 17 times in two hours.”
By 5:30 I’m still sick and very feverish. I decided to call my wife, not only because she’s a pharmacist and would know what I should do, but also because she’s my wife and I know she otherwise would have said “you should have called me!” because she’s too nice!
It turns out that she happened to be awake at 4:30am MST with a sore tooth. She recommended that I call Poison Control, because shellfish poisoning can be more serious than regular food poisoning.
I called the National Poison Control hotline (1-800-222-1222!) and the lady said I should drink an electrolyte beverage (really small sips) and take some ibuprofen for the fever. She said they’d be calling me back later in the day to check on me.
The hotel gift shop opened at 6am. I bought some Advil, Pepto Bismol, and a Gatorade. By 6:30 I was already feeling better, but I still wanted to play it safe, so the only things I had to eat before 8pm that day were five crackers and two Gatorades.
By the way, Bob and Jeff didn’t get sick at all. So, either I have a weak stomach, or I ate something nasty. I prefer to think the latter is the reason, because there’s less personal responsibility that way.
That night, I eased myself into having a big, delicious dinner, which was the true test of how much I had recovered. And… Success! Now I can eat whatever I want!
And so he did. The End.