My best vomiting story came after I smoked a cigar that apparently disagreed with me. The only problem is that it did not hit until I was standing in line at the drug store, waiting for my wife's prescription. I made a face and some noises in front of the cashier, made it about half way to the restroom, then let loose all the way back to the bathroom. I even had to clean off the doorknob once I was done. And the worst part was I still had to stand around and wait for the prescription after all that. Yuck!!
- Jason M. Rinn, USA
I shall send one in on behalf of my sister, who I guess had better remain nameless. This was when were in our teens/early twenties and were all still living at home. My parents had gone away on hols and we, in the manner of most grown up kids had elected not to go with them for various reasons.
Anyway, one night we decided not to cook but to go out to the local Chinese restaurant (nothing against Chinese restaurants, its just where it happened). Dinner went well we ate enjoyed ourselves and got up to leave. In the manner of all good waiters, the manager opened the door for us to leave, then I guess having nothing much to do as no one else was leaving, he stayed at the door watching us get into our car and leave. It was then that it happened. What triggered it I don't know but as we got into the car my sister started feeling queasy.
As we drove out of the car park and back past the front of the restaurant the moment arrived and my sister yelled "STOP THE CAR I'm GOING TO BE SICK" in a fairly urgent sort of manner. Whoever was driving (I can't remember who it was) stopped the car right in front of the restaurant where the manager was still standing at the door watching. My sister opened the door, leant out of the car and threw up onto the road, to the rather stunned surpise of the manager. She then grabbed a tissue, wiped her mouth, deposited it out the steaming mess on the road (it was a cold night) and closed the door. We then proceeded to get the hell out of there and I don't believe my sister has ever been back.
This is a little embarrassing to admit, but here goes.
It was my first year at uni and it was the first end of year exam. It happened to be maths. Now, I was never a good student always leaving things to the last minute and in my first year at uni I was particularly slack so I hadn't really done any study. So here was my day of reckoning! A lamb to the slaughter. I didn't really have any lecture notes to speak of since the prof was not into giving out notes or even giving a proper lecture. The text books were all too big to digest quickly. In a last ditched attempt at passing I had bought this small paperback "Teach yourself Calculus".
The day got off to a bad start. On the morning of the exam, I was woken by my mother informing me a snap strike had been called and the trains were out. Great! The only alternative was to get myself to Carnegie for the tram that runs along Glenhuntly Rd into the city. A long trip. The exams were being held at the exhibition buildings. The thought crossed my mind not to bother since I thought I was going to fail, but in my HSC year (as it was called then) I had studied maths very hard so in the back of my mind I gave myself some chance. If I got the tram I might just make it in time for the exam.
I bolted down breakfast which consisted of about 8 weetbix, copious amounts of milk and some fruit. Typical teenagers big breakfast. Raced to the tram stop...waited what seemed like an eternity...swore audibly under my breathe...finally one arrived. Being the end of the line I was able to get a seat, pulled out the Teach Yourself Calculus book and attempted to absorb the subject. It was a particularly hot morning, the sun was beating in through the window but I was now desperately trying to understand and memorise the information. Well, as expected the tram was packed solid, there was no air to speak of and because of the traffic it crawled. It became obvious that I would have an additional disadvantage of being late for the exam. I'm thinking I probably could handle losing 15 minutes but half an hour would be a disaster.
By now my anxiety level had hit the red zone and I realised the combination of nerves, stress, heat, lack of air and feeling of motion sickness from reading on a moving tram had made me start to feel like I was going to bring up the contents of my stomach. This sort of anxiety feeds on itself so I started to feel even worse. I knew it was only a matter of time but I was determined not to get off the tram since that would probably mean losing any chance of passing the exam. The problem was there was nowhere to throw up. Images of me projectile vomiting onto the other occupants of the tram flashed before me. Oh shit! I tried every relaxation technique possible. No good. It was just a question of when.
The tram finally reached the city. For me, there was about 8 stops to go now. Fortunately, a lot of people got off so I was able to move to a less crowded spot. And then the inevitable happened. I spewed up what seemed like my entire insides. In a closed location there is no escape it sprayed and splattered. People ran for cover. At the next stop I think most people decided to get off just to avoid the smell but of course I had to stay...I wasn't going anywhere. So here's this now practically empty tram going up Swanston St in the middle of a strike! Just me and the conductor. Actually, the tram conductor was pretty good. I explained I had to get to an exam. He seemed to understand but said maybe I should lay off the grog the night before a big exam.
To cut a long story short, I made it to the exam about 15 minutes late and amazingly did enough to pass. As I was standing around with my friends after the exam someone happened to notice the splashed spew on my shoes and bag. I said, "Yer, some idiot threw up on the tram this morning". Everyone laughed. I was too embarrassed to tell them I was the idiot.
That's my story. Its time for a confession. I apologise to anyone that might have been on the tram that morning.
- John, Melbourne, Australia
I have done my share of upchucking locally here in Philadelphia PA USA and also have antagonize locals in other countries. The most revolting incident that I can recall occurred in January 1989 while on the HOVERSPEED Hovercraft from Calais France to Dover Priory England. The Strait of Dover was exceptionally choppy that day for hovercraft operations, which means that we were doing 35 mph across the water in lieu of 75 mph (which the HOVERSPEED company claims they can do on a very calm day. Which I've never seen yet.) I had already "filled up" at the restaurant in the Port de Calais Hovercraft /Customs area since I'm usually able to do so on a Return Trip. Bad decision. Enroute to Dover Priory, the choppy waves took their toll and I grabbed the Stomach Distress Bag in front of me. Which I proceeded to fill up. Now, I should point out that I'm the kind of person that you don't want to be around when I get sick. Because I'm loud when regurgitating and this just gets everyone in earshot sick as well. And that's what happened on that HOVERSPEED flight to Dover Priory. I got sick, then slowly but surely, the rest of the passengers got sick listening to me upchuck and joined in. Even the damned flight attendants who are seasoned pros got sick because of me. They couldn't escape me; there was nowhere to run. Disembarking from the Hovercraft at Customs in Dover Priory, I got a lot of visual "you're disgusting" looks thrown at me. If looks could kill! Even the flight attendants wouldn't say goodbye to me as they did to the rest of the passengers. They merely widen their distance from me (Was it my Dragon Breath?). Oh well, c'est la vie as the Frogs say!
- Martin Coghlan, Philadelphia, USA
About 10 years ago <sheesh, that long ago!> I went to London with a girlfriend to visit an aunt and uncle.
Because we were on a budget we decided to take the bus, Hoover craft and bus again......
So after about 3 hours in the bus, 2 hours in the Hoover thingy and another 2 in the bus I kinda started feeling queasy but kept on telling myself "we're almost there". We were almost at the busstation and were going to be picked up by my uncle in his canary coloured mercedes!
I had made it so far and was sitting in this mercedes, which usually is quite comfortable, but sitting squished in the corner with 3 more people squished beside you.......<get the picture>
Anyway I'm dead-tired taking a couple of deep breaths and am about to ask my uncle to pull-over, when I open my mouth and...."Oh my gawd!!!!" I spewed everything out, up and in an arch, on the floor, over the seat and worst of all.....in my shoes! YUCK!!!
We got to their house, I got out of the car..."sop..suck, suck, sop sop"
Talk about wanting to dig a hole and disappear in it!!
The moral of the story <yes folks, there's moral to it> is.....when there's family around, who cares! They've seen your diapers....!
- Yasmin J. Nurmohamed, Haarlem, The Netherlands
I know my favorite vomit story comes from my freshman year at college. My good friend and I had just finished off a rather LARGE pizza complete with pepperoni and green olives. Not too soon after I finished the last piece of my half, I knew that my stomach would not let me go to bed and work this one off. As I looked with a green tint at my buddy, he simply looked back at me, pointed down the hall towards the bathroom and said, "Run!". I did manage to make it to the bathroom stall with no problem, but the complete time I was chucking, my friend was saying, "Man, I'd call the pizza place and complain about that one! You didn't get a chance to enjoy that at all!". I did manage to get my 2 cents worth in when I informed my friend that, "cheese floats!".
- Patrick Tully
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