Soup Nazi commands: No muffin for you!

Head in the toilet, puking. Then dry-heaving when the stomach’s emptied.

Diarrhea. Gross watery streams and the rest of that picture I’ll leave to you.

I’ll never look at a lemon poppyseed muffin the same way.

The culprit easily identified. It’s either the small bag of baked Lay’s potato chips or the muffin. And honestly, who gets food poisoning from potato chips?

I thought I was doing myself a favor, picking up the muffin and chips at Maverick (gas station) for the 2-1/2-hour midnight drive home Thursday. After all, I hadn’t eaten all day.

Food poisoning’s timetable is remarkably predictive. A thing of beauty physically.

Within two hours of eating, rumblings of gastrointestinal distress emerged.

At three, I was in bed in the depth of night flat on my back, unable to move, overcome with nausea and speculating whether I’d sleep it away — haha, as if! — or throw up.

If you’ve ever been drunk — and God I hope you have! it’s a critical life experience — then you know precisely that experience. Am I gonna throw up or am I not? Do I want to? No. Will I feel better if I do? Yes. In the end, nature takes its course and you’re her puppet.

Nature won. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Hastened dashes from bedroom to toilet to unleash the poison, the contaminants of a lemon poppyseed muffin that several hours prior had looked so innocent and inviting sitting there inside its protective little plastic bubble.

I won’t lie. It was ugly.

I’ve only twice had marked food poisoning.

The first was from contaminated sushi at a Japanese restaurant in San Francisco some 30 years ago. Ironically, I never got food poisoning in the oodles of raw fish I joyfully and abundantly consumed during my 10+ years in Japan!

The muffin poisoning was worse than the sushi. More, ahem, graphic. Intense. Enduring. Kept me up all night with diarrhea, vomiting, dry heaving, then drained me of all energy the next day and produced a fever.

Needless to say, food held no appeal what-so-ever the day after! Not even a gentle bowl of healing Campbell’s chicken noodle. A slow halfway in my stomach rebelled so I let the soup go and stuck with the only thing that soothes — diet ginger ale.

One thing to know about me. I’m a highly conscious and conscientious citizen of the planet. (I couldn’t be a part of today’s Self-Absorbed Me-Me-Me culture if I tried!)

I did the right thing. The responsible thing. I called that Maverick, spoke with the manager to inform of the contaminated muffin. She was glad for the information and stated she’d pull the products.

Were I a modern American, I’d be hiring a lawyer and suing the corporation for some insane cause – excuse drummed up by some scummy lawyer and me!

But I’m no modern American.

I’m a reasonable and reasoning and inordinately fair American who assumes responsibility for her actions — in this case, purchasing a lemon poppyseed muffin. It’s not Maverick’s fault that it was contaminated! How could they know … unless informed by a responsible customer.

My job there done, I returned to healing. Slooowly. Two days later and my system’s still distressed, out of whack, uber sensitive. Nuthin’ but liquids for unhappy tummy!

I slept deeply for some 16 hours last night. The fever broke. However, my energy’s far from peppy.

There shall be no lemon peppy, I mean poppy, seed muffins any time soon methinks.


Or Muffin for You!! (courtesy of Soup Nazi on “Seinfeld.”)





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