Thursday, May 07, 2009

The Time I Got Food Poisoning

Did you know that I've seen a NASCAR race at Daytona?

Well, kinda, sorta.

I saw 13 laps of the race.

Right after Hubby and I got married, during the summer of '99, we road-tripped from Charleston, SC (where we were living) down to Jacksonville, FL where one of my good friends was living. She had gotten 4 $100 tickets to the big race over July 4th weekend.

(Coincidentally, she was one of my bridesmaids. Who happened to hook up with one of Hubby's groomsmen at our wedding. They were together for over 2 years.)

Anyway, so Groomsman was flying down to Jax from Boston and the 4 of us were going to make a FUN weekend of it. Wahooo!

On our way to Florida, Hubby and I stopped to eat here.

(Psst, that was foreshadowing.)

Later that evening, Hubby started to feel ill. He spent most of the night sitting on the throne. I felt fine.

The day of the race, Hubby's system was all cleared out.

I, on the other hand?

Had a bangin' headache that wouldn't quit. And my stomach felt, errr...."funny".

So off to Daytona we headed. At the ass crack of dawn, because there was much tailgating to be done. Wahooo!

We arrived in Daytona. We were parked in the middle of a blacktopped parking lot with a cooler full of beers. HOT doesn't even begin to describe it. In Florida. In July. On tar.

And I? Was trying to hang in there. Thinking maybe if I ate something, I'd feel better. I had an apple. And some Twizzlers. And a few beers.

But nope, I still didn't feel right.

I kind of wanted to die, actually.

But the other 3 were SO drunk EXCITED to be there. At Daytona. For a big race. Wahooo!

Eventually we made our way into the stadium.

Our seats? Couldn't have been up any higher. Practically the top row. In the middle of the row. Squished in there. Surrounded by wasted rednecks NASCAR fans.

Now I really felt gross (and claustrophobic).

While the National Anthem was being sung, I sat, with my head in my hands, quietly moaning to myself.


Then, up from the depths of my body, I felt it coming.

I heaved, and then lurched out of my seat, practically crawling over bodies to get to the aisle. I RAN to the bathroom and made it just in time, emptying the contents of my belly.

(Not that I was the only one throwing up in there, mind you. I just happened to be the only sober one throwing up.)

Whew. Now I should definitely start to feel better, right?

Notsomuch. I returned to my seat, to the curious stares of the 17 people I had had to climb over beforehand.

(I'm sure they thought I was totally wasted, because, by that point, who isn't at a NASCAR race?)

Everyone was standing, cheering and screaming at the start of the race when the loudspeaker bellowed, "GENTLEMEN, STARRRRT YOURRRRRR ENNNNGINES." (Did you just read that in your head like how it's supposed to be announced?)

Not I. I sat. Hugging my body tight. Miserable.

I couldn't do it. There was no way I could sit through an entire race. I needed to leave.

But the car was a loooong way away. And it was dark out.

I leaned over to Hubby, who was hooting and hollering and inebriated thoroughly enjoying himself and whispered, "I need to go. I hafta leave. I can't stay here."

Dumbfounded, he stared at me. "Wha? You can't just sit here."

"Nope, I'm definitely gonna be sick again. I can't keep climbing over these people. I need to lay down."

Ever the dutiful newlywed, Hubby stumbled left with me. We made our way back to the car (I had to stop a few times to upchuck) and I immediately sprawled out in the backseat.

Hubby?

Got himself a lawn chair, turned on the car radio, cracked open a beer from the cooler, and tailgated.

Alone. For the remainder of the race. To the sounds of the racecars zooming around the track in the background.

Later, we had to pull over on the side of the highway a few times on our way back to Jacksonville that night so I could puke some more.

The next morning? I felt totally fine.

But everyone else was hung over. Heh.

And that's the story of how Hubby and I went to a race at Daytona but only saw 13 laps.

The End.

P.S. Needless to say, we have never eaten at Steak n' Shake since.

9 comments:

Ashley said...

That's a good one!

At least he was accommodating to your needs and all. Mine would have handed me the keys and said see ya in a few hours. He's much nicer now.

Lukie said...

I guess you should be thankful that it was not coming from both ends. It is perfect acceptable to throw up in a field, parking lot, or other open space. It is frowned upon to drop your pants and spew from the that end.

Maneuvering Motherhood said...

Oh, you poor thing. That sounds like an awful experience. And here I was just telling Jim that I wanted to go to Steak N Shake. I think I've changed my mind!

Lynette3boys said...

Ugh - yes, Steak and Shake is the devil. I had a similar experience there (not to the extreme that you endured, bless your little redneck heart) but it was gut wrenching. I don't know what kind of oil they use to cook their food in but I think it may be part castor.

And I love how you retold the story. Very entertaining (although it was at your expense).

Cheryl Lage said...

Oooof. You poor thing. Two bouts here. One after bad shrimp (and I had to run TV camera for the Oyster Fest the day after...delish)

The other? Lemme just say, don't try the mushroom gravy at the Ponderosa.

You told a rather "ugly" story beautifully. ;)

AZ Mommy said...

My sister dropped her Coach purse which also contained an iPHONE in a porta-potty at a nascar race. I tell you what, that kid has some good life stories!

Banteringblonde said...

We used to eat at Steak n' Shake all the time lol - we don't have one here!

Manic Mommy said...

You're a total trooper for even trying to get into the stadium. I would have locked myself in the car with the A/C on and prayed for death to take me.

Patois said...

When you know you married the right one.

LinkWithin

Related Posts with Thumbnails