Last night, I went to meet up with S in Koreatown for some awesome Korean and right outside the restaurant on the curb was a man puking his guts out. One of the other men with him ran inside to get more napkins. It was a lot of vomit. Like, a whole lot.
I had arrived first, so after the heaving ceased, and there was a LOT of heaving, the men crossed the street and left behind a large pool of throw-up. I watched as tons of pedestrians attempted to go around the slow people in the middle of the sidewalk only to stop in their tracks, reverse, and get back behind the slow people. Lesson learned? Upchuck trumps a snail's pace.
Note: I have subconsciously been attempting to use as many synonyms for vomiting and vomit as possible. Now that I've noticed, I am consciously doing so. Seriously, who is reading this? I shouldn't be allowed to write anymore.
Anyway, I watched as the four men haggled to get into a car to be driven to wherever they were going. The driver, having witnessed the ralphing from the other side of the street, was weary of letting them all in, but he caved and in they climbed. I don't think he had anything to worry about. That guy could not have possibly offered anything else from his insides.
Another note: While the incident was occurring, the other men with him were patting him on the back, not to make it happen faster, but in a kind and comforting way of saying it's okay, it's all right, you'll be fine. It was nice to see.
Thankfully, S arrived shortly after that and into the restaurant we went, fearless! We shared the huedobop and I devoured the shumai and we cleaned up the side apps pretty good, too, my poor to mediocre chopstick skills not once slowing me down. Lesson learned? A yen for Korean trumps possible food poisoning. It was so worth the risk, and that guy probably had one too many sake bombs.
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