Confessions and Tales from a Jeep

One evening while hanging out with friends enjoying dinner, drinks, and guitar hero, I was introduced to something that tasted like hot licorice and burned like fire.  If you only learn one thing from this it should be Sambuca is not your friend.  In the moment it may tell you that you in fact can, not only play guitar hero but in fact you are the guitar hero. Believe me, Sambuca lies and is in fact a backstabber!

The rest of the evening was a blur and the next morning I awoke with what I can only imagine was a hit and run.  I gathered myself up and my partner and I prepared to leave for dinner with my dad.

We stopped off by a Whole Foods so I could pick up a drink that would cure a hangover; a fruity drink with vitamins and minerals to revive your mind and body.  We ate homemade pizza with lots of colorful toppings. It was good but my body just wasn’t having it.  

Tip number two: Never ever, under any circumstances mix a hangover drink, pizza and a long bumpy car ride home. 

My stomach was so upset.  Morgan asked if I wanted her to drive but the thought of being in the passenger side just upset my stomach more.  I told her that I was fine and I could drive.  We headed out on our fifty mile journey home, my nausea was getting worse.  Morgan asked if I needed to stop but I just wanted to get home to my friend Pepto Bismol; the one that is always there for you after your night as a rock God.  

Tip number three: When someone asks you to stop if you feel sick, do it!

I was fine all the way through Atlanta keeping the nausea down, and then it hit me: the dreaded smell, some random smell from outside the Jeep.  I have no idea what happened in that next second. It felt like eternity and I could not control it.

This was not just throwing up but projectile puking all over the Jeep, all over the dash, steering wheel, down the door, in the side pockets, fruity drink and colorful toppings, it was everywhere. 

Morgan frantically saying, “Pull over!” as I am unable to speak.

I start pulling over, from the fast lane mind you, to the shoulder while opening my door. Morgan grabs the wheel to save herself as I lean out the door puking down the freeway leaving my mark on I75. 

We finally come to a stop, Morgan hands me bed sheets that were in the backseat of the Jeep to try and contain the mess.  After the madness, I look over at her with puke still on me and see the look of horror, I can’t believe what just happened, and would you be offended if I walk the rest of the way home, in her eyes. 

She calmly says, “Are you ok and can you drive us the rest of the way home?”

I said yes.

 Morgan emphatically states, “Good because we would have to call a cab because I am not going over there and sit in your puke. I have never, as long as I have lived in my forty five years, ever seen anything like that.”

I had to remove the carpet from the Jeep and have it shampooed, replace the floor mats. It took about a week to clean it out and get the smell mostly gone.

Next time, if there is a next time, I will pull over before it’s too late. Because it is very clear to me that you don’t want to call a cab to the side of the interstate because your car is covered in puke.  Or simply never drink Sambuca again.