Disclaimer! This is an attempt to relate a humorous anecdote. It is essentially, bathroom humor. Turn back now if you are easily offended.
So last night I was sick. Upset bowels had me stuck on the toilet re-reading an old issue of Time magazine that was stuffed to the gills with thoroughly irrelevant and sensationalistic material. Must have been the cafeteria food at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley, CA where I work. Fish Fridays are always sketchy, but I went with it anyway. Deep fried fish lumps and something called vegetarian sauce. As near as I could figure the vegetarian sauce was canned tomato chunks with green things, floaty white bits, and meatless sausages. I was hungry enough that I just didn't care that deep fried fish lumps are the seafood equivalent of cat food. Or that the unidentifiable vegetarian sauce didn't taste anything like canned tomato chunks with green and white bits in it. I was fine for the rest of my shift and continued on with my usual routine of cruising around the hotel eating whatever food I find left over in the meeting rooms as I worked. Fortunately it was not until I was home that evening that I was stricken with the ass to bowl binding aliment. The unfavorable condition passed ( no pun intended ) and I thought little more of it.
Until today. I was in the server's pantry stuffing my face with mini egg rolls ( $4.50 each ) and drinking a 16oz coffee cup full of flat room temperature champagne I had compiled from the dregs of bottles and unserved glasses after a party. Somewhere around egg roll #8 I wandered into the room where the party was held and started eating off the cheese plate. The cheese smelled rather strongly, and the slices all had a dewy moist look about them that suggested the cheese had probably been there for some time. Then it dawned on me; I would have made a miserable caveman. The fact that I meander about the property eating pretty much whatever I happen across is far more likely to be the culprit of my brief illness than the cafeteria food! Should I have been born some 150,000 years ago, give or take an ice age, I would have undoubtedly found myself pursuing a very similar culinary agenda. It would only be a matter of time before I found a recently expired squirrel who's immune system had lost a pitched battle against the rabies virus. Or perhaps some giant sloth jerky that had been made such by virtue of a nearby sulfur vent that had asphyxiated the creature would do me in. Whatever gastronomic mishap my caveman alter ego would have undertaken to land my fossilized skull in a museum several millennium later surely would have been worthy of a Geico commercial directed by Charles Darwin.
The thought amused me as I plowed through $67.50 worth of hors d'oeuvers so I just thought I would share.
So last night I was sick. Upset bowels had me stuck on the toilet re-reading an old issue of Time magazine that was stuffed to the gills with thoroughly irrelevant and sensationalistic material. Must have been the cafeteria food at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley, CA where I work. Fish Fridays are always sketchy, but I went with it anyway. Deep fried fish lumps and something called vegetarian sauce. As near as I could figure the vegetarian sauce was canned tomato chunks with green things, floaty white bits, and meatless sausages. I was hungry enough that I just didn't care that deep fried fish lumps are the seafood equivalent of cat food. Or that the unidentifiable vegetarian sauce didn't taste anything like canned tomato chunks with green and white bits in it. I was fine for the rest of my shift and continued on with my usual routine of cruising around the hotel eating whatever food I find left over in the meeting rooms as I worked. Fortunately it was not until I was home that evening that I was stricken with the ass to bowl binding aliment. The unfavorable condition passed ( no pun intended ) and I thought little more of it.
Until today. I was in the server's pantry stuffing my face with mini egg rolls ( $4.50 each ) and drinking a 16oz coffee cup full of flat room temperature champagne I had compiled from the dregs of bottles and unserved glasses after a party. Somewhere around egg roll #8 I wandered into the room where the party was held and started eating off the cheese plate. The cheese smelled rather strongly, and the slices all had a dewy moist look about them that suggested the cheese had probably been there for some time. Then it dawned on me; I would have made a miserable caveman. The fact that I meander about the property eating pretty much whatever I happen across is far more likely to be the culprit of my brief illness than the cafeteria food! Should I have been born some 150,000 years ago, give or take an ice age, I would have undoubtedly found myself pursuing a very similar culinary agenda. It would only be a matter of time before I found a recently expired squirrel who's immune system had lost a pitched battle against the rabies virus. Or perhaps some giant sloth jerky that had been made such by virtue of a nearby sulfur vent that had asphyxiated the creature would do me in. Whatever gastronomic mishap my caveman alter ego would have undertaken to land my fossilized skull in a museum several millennium later surely would have been worthy of a Geico commercial directed by Charles Darwin.
The thought amused me as I plowed through $67.50 worth of hors d'oeuvers so I just thought I would share.