I flew out to Salt Lake City last week to attend a NAADAC convention. It was a week long conference attended by over eight hundred and fifty alcohol and drug abuse professionals. I mention this to set the stage for a scene I starred in.
We arrived late in the afternoon after a stop over in Dallas where I only had a few minutes to grab a Big Mac before departing for SLC. Upon arriving in SLC I felt nauseous and felt worse as the evening passed.
My friends and I met in the main convention hall of the Grand American Hotel, "the ultimate luxury hotel in Utah" as they promote it. Luxury as I define it by tons of polished brass, thick oriental rugs, built in marble and white granite topped off by a doorman with an air. You get the picture?
As it goes with food poisoning the contaminated food along with everything else in the stomach has got to come back up. Any residue usually comes out the other end. We'll stick with the coming up. As the rumbling in my stomach began I headed for the nearest john. Didn't make it. In the middle of the foyer I caught the first mouth-full in my hands and frantically dropped to my knees at the nearest wastebasket. Still with me?
With my arms around the basket and up-chucking at a convention for alcohol and drug abuse counselors I pictured myself as the old drunk with too much to drink. This conference group would pick me as the perfect poster-boy for that universal scene of a sick drunk "romancing the porcelain." (arms around the toilet for those for those of you fortunate enough to never having experienced such a loving scene).
As relief came I could only let out a laugh through the tears. I know I looked pathetic. With people passing, giving me a wide berth, I was grateful. Happy and grateful that I was not suffering one of my past indignities fueled by too much to drink along with an assortment of "slim jims"and other back-of the-bar-delicacies.
I thanked God that I was attending such a convention as board chair of a treatment center and not the guy of those wrenching wet and dry heaving days.