The One With the Plastic Forks

Since it's springtime in Oregon, I found myself wedging yet another box of allergy pills into the medicine cabinet this afternoon. Why am I suddenly outgrowing my medicine cabinet? Because it's full of expired OTC products, that's why! Oops. Please don't tell the dozens of Pharmacists with whom I work. Or the nearly 800 aspiring Pharmacists we are educating...they like to practice their "patient counseling" skills on me from time to time, and I can only imagine the lecture this irresponsible behavior would merit. I'm supposed to be the one pestering them about responsibility - not the other way around. Anyway, I dutifully purged the 2008 cough syrup and the "real" Sudafed I smuggled home from Chicago many moons ago. (Note to self: cross the border to a normal state before cold season sets in). In the process I came across a nearly-full bottle of now-expired Maalox which reminded me of a lovely tale I've been meaning to share for quite some time. It involves the Maalox, a tube of crescent rolls, a pregnant lady, and a plastic fork.

It was Friday, February 27, 2009 (right here I wish I could insert that harp-music that always plays when someone in a movie is flashing back to an old memory) and I was having a crazy-busy day at work. I was absolutely determined to be out the door on time that night so that I could head off to start birthday weekend festivities with two of my favorite gal-pals, Jessie & Beth. Not having packed a lunch, I dashed over to the cafeteria and grabbed a salad to go. A salad and a plastic fork. Dun dun DUN! Moments later I was back at my desk with about seven minutes to consume my salad, and was stabbing wildly at it with the fork. In my fervor, I broke off two of the little plastic tines. I glanced at the salad, and didn't immediately see the broken tines - sadly indistinguishable from the cafeteria's shredded iceberg lettuce. I thought to myself, "I should fish around and get those things out of there." Then, realizing that I now had only 5 minutes to finish eating lunch, I decided that I would certainly notice biting into a tine, and would just spit it out if I got one in my remaining few bites. Mmmm hmmmm. No flaws in that plan. Minutes later I'd scarfed up most of my salad (quite an achievement with a two-tined fork) and congratulated myself for not eating any part of my utensil! I tossed the rest of the salad in the trash and got back to work.

Later that afternoon I was on my way to Beth's house, eagerly anticipating a night of fun. I also seemed to have developed quite a tickle in my throat - it almost felt like the beginning of a sore throat. How could I possibly be getting sick? I'm ruthless with the anti-bacterial lotion and lysol wipes for a reason. If I could just clear my throat...cough, hack, sputter. Drink some water...cough, hack, sputter. Still really sore! And maybe a little obstructed. Swallow, cough, hack, sputter. And then, in a palm-smacking-the-forehead moment of realization, it dawns on me. Gulp. There is a fork tine lodged in my throat. Let's get the birthday party started!

Immediately upon my arrival at Beth's place the wine was poured, and I confessed my latest shenanigan to the girls. (For the record: we poured sparkling cider into a wineglass for the pregnant lady. We did that A LOT that year). I figured we could probably come up with some kind of solution. I regaled the girls with stories of our old dog, Sunny, who was notorious for eating all sorts of things that shouldn't be eaten (shoe laces, crayons, razor blades...), as well as the charming feed-her-a-lot-of-bread-and-then-monitor-the-backyard-till-you-find-the-item-again routine with which our family became all too familiar. As we drank our wine, my problem seemed funnier and funnier. Eventually, it was suggested that I should be stuffed full of bread crumbs like a Thanksgiving turkey and then set out on the lawn. What a touching testimonial to our friendship.

Seeing no sensible solutions showing up at the bottom of that bottle of pinot, I decided to give Jimbo a jangle. What the heck? Even if he doesn't have a remedy, all my "I got carried away and ate the whole dang place-setting" jokes would be new to him. Apparently I caught him at a bad time. He was out a some loud restaurant and didn't find my predicament all that funny. Thankfully he did have one half-way decent recommendation: call his parents, the retired nurse and paramedic. I don't remember which one of his parents I called first, or exactly how the conversation went. It was all a little jumbled since they were also out to dinner at a loud restaurant, and kept consulting each other while muffling the receiver. I do remember coming away with the distinct impression that we were going to really kick this slumber party into high gear by having my stomach pumped.

Eventually, it was decided that the tine probably wasn't actually lodged in my throat (since I'd been able to chew and swallow our pizza at dinner). Apparently it had scratched the inside of my throat on the way down - hence the soreness. I got instructions to drink a big dose of Maalox as the topical anesthetic would help my poor scratched throat. But then there was the matter of at least one - and quite possibly two - sharp pieces of plastic now navigating my nether regions. If I wanted to avoid having my stomach pumped, I'd have to do something to ensure that those little tines didn't prick, poke, or puncture anything precious! Solution? Feed-her-a-lot-of-bread-and-then-monitor-the-backyard-till-you-find-the-item-again. I am now officially sorry for making fun of the dog for all these years.

So, the three of us piled into the car (this is where the pregnant/sober lady really came through like a champ) and drove across the street to the Thriftway. You read that right: we drove across the street - our pregnant lady had hit her 8-month waddle. I opted for the mint-flavored Maalox (vs. cherry...cough, hack, sputter) and a tube of the Pillsbury Doughboy's finest crescent rolls.
Nothing says party like minty-fresh vacuum-packed dinner rolls! Thankfully there were *delish* birthday cupcakes to cap off the night.
I don't remember now how many crescent rolls I made myself eat, but I'm fairly certain I mustered the fortitude to polish off two of those cupcakes. Overindulgent? Maybe. But I had a mandate: feed-her-a-lot-of-bread-and-then-monitor-the-backyard-till-you-find-the-item-again. Believe it or not, it worked! The Maalox soothed my scratched up throat, and the baked goods did their trick too. That's all I'm going to say about that. This is a family show.

I never touched that big bottle of Maalox again, and it sure felt good to pour it out today.

This story requires not one, but two epilogues.

Epilogue One:
Remember my jangle to Jimbo? He was in a loud restaurant and tried to get me off the phone as quickly as possible. Remember my call to his parents a few minutes later? Loud restaurant, muffled discussion. They were together in the SAME loud restaurant - just miles from me and my Maalox. That boy is lucky I don't have an investigative bone in my body or I would have blown his big plan for a surprise proposal the next day!
What a special birthday treat! Almost made me forget all that bread.


Epilogue Two:
A couple weeks later I received a picture text from Beth. She'd snapped it at her desk that day at lunch.

No caption necessary.