If you've never seen me vomit, you either A.) are not my real friend or B.) had better look out because it will happen soon.
What follows are merely a few examples of my vomit experiences. And no, this blog post is not unsolicited. Believe it or not, someone asked for this—multiple someones on multiple occasions, in fact. If you've got it, flaunt it. And I've got vomit problems, apparently. So look out, everyone.
Let's begin with the flight from Chicago to Seoul in August of 2013. Nothing quite takes the thrill out of adventure like incapacitating, turbulence-induced nausea. Nothing quite triggers vomit impulses like one's very first smell of Korean octopus. And nothing quite effectively blocks one's path to the bathroom like a food cart serving said octopus. High five to the water cup I was holding that volunteered as tribute and was just large enough to neatly contain all of the vomit. And a bigger high five to the Korean man sitting next to me on the plane who didn't even throw up once, but merely gagged and mentally noted never again to sit next to an American girl on an airplane (and also didn't eat his octopus).
I later realized that this had been important training for me. I quickly learned the art of being resourceful when it came to vomit receptacles.
During my brief stint in Taiwan this past May, I consumed just enough glistening food products to raise my gastrointestinal confidence to unprecedented heights. Whether slicked with syrupy glucose or slippery meat textures, the food in Taipei truly shines. Having passed two full vomit-free days in this dietary state, I boarded a hot, crowded train without a care in the world. "Nothing can do anything to me!!!!!" was my completely unwarranted mindset.
It was only 20 minutes into the journey that I discovered I did indeed have a care—and that a thing could indeed do something to me, that thing being a sudden, warm lurching in my stomach. I began to wonder if the rising heat inside me would reach my face before the vomit would reach my mouth. The race was on!
Unfortunately, all the train seats had been filled, so I was standing on the swaying train. Fortunately, I was standing by the bathroom. Unfortunately, another woman was in the bathroom at this particular moment and had decided that it would be a great time to set the world record for longest time spent on a tiny train toilet. Fortunately, I had the good sense to buy a cup of coffee (buying a cup of coffee is always good sense), and therefore had a contingency plan in place for vomit receipt.
I began counting in my head, having decided that if the woman did not exit my Plan A for Vomit Receipt within thirty seconds, I would yank the door open. The good news is, I didn't even need to get to thirty, as the vomit beat me there. Three cheers for coffee cups as vomit receipt contingency plans. Though I must say, holding a warm cup of vomit for an hour on a train isn't the most fun game I've ever played.
The best part about my gastrointestinal struggles in Thailand this past August was that finding vomit receptacles was never even on my radar. I just threw up all over God's green earth whenever the need arose. When the tropical gut bug takes hold, you lose any semblance of control over your stomach's impulsive actions. The vomit diary entry for my time in Thailand would look something like this:
"Dear Vomit Diary, Today I threw up literally whenever and wherever I felt like it, with no warning whatsoever. On an unrelated note, I think I've yet to eat fully cooked chicken in this country. Also the milk here is delicious."
Far and away, I have thrown up more in Korea than in any other country. I blame the mountains and the octopuses. I haven't the time, nor the energy, nor the fortitude of stomach (I know my limitations) to list all the incidents here. But one vomit session in particular—indeed, my pride and joy—go cannot go untold.
Needless to say, bus routes that wind through the mountains are the bane of my existence. But it takes a truly special convergence of circumstances to create this brilliant disaster. First, a sweltering heat. Secondly, particularly sharps curves in the road. Thirdly, a remarkably violent driver, who either had one too many bad days in a row or felt like playing games with an American girl's vertigo. Fourthly, an utter lack of vomit receptacles (SURELY, I am not the only person who is regularly aware of and concerned with vomit receptacles?).
The good news is, the bus windows were open. The better news is, I am awesome at physics. By which I mean, I knew that since I was sitting on the left side of the bus, I needed to wait until the bus swerved right before I hurled out the window. Which I did. I can proudly say that not a flick of vomit touched the side of the bus. Ok, actually I'm not sure about that, because I deliberately did not look at the bus afterwards. But yeah I'm clearly good at physics.
Oh, even better news. The bus swerved often, giving me multiple occasions to stick my head out the window and throw up. This is a true story, and I hope it improves everyone's opinion of me. It ought.
And my return to America? Did this mean a return to stomach stability? Well, the 14-hour flight from Doha to Chicago was a fun-filled venture of me scuttling back and forth between my seat and the bathroom and concluded with a dramatic arrival in the USA, consisting of sprinting to the airport facilities to vomit even more—my first activity on American soil. So, you tell me.
