When
I was not engaged in combat sports I was still very active in the
tricky word fighting of debate. My debate coach was a very selfless
and generous guy who would take extra weekends to take us to debate
tournaments and on occasion would even drive us there with his own
miniature van. On such trip was to an invitational tournament
somewhere way up north and the school wouldn't let him use a school
suburban to make the trip so he took us himself. After the two days
of the tournament we were heading home and he stopped to buy us all
lunch. An hour or so into the return trip home a goofball kid who was
siting in the back asked if anyone had an empty cup he could use. He
didn't say what it was for and he was definitely not in any rush when
he asked. He got what he asked for and the second it was in his hand
he brought it to his lips and vomited into it in the least violent
way I have ever seen. It was like he was filling the cup from some
demonic soft serve machine and then here is where it gets weird. When
the cup was full he just stopped lifted his head up and asked for a
second cup. I cannot express to you how incredibly bizarre this whole
vignette was. He had slow puked a cup full, stopped and said he still
needed to puke some more. He got a second cup and filled it mostly
full in the same eerily calm manner. By the time he had almost 40
steaming ounces of putrescent vomit it his cups word had reached the
front of the van that he was sick and we needed to stop. When we
stopped the kid was going to get out and go to the bathroom and clean
up and discard his payload but as he tried to extricate himself from
the back seat without using his hands because he was still holding
the puke cups he spilled them hither and yon. We all got to stop and
get out at a car wash for about an hour while our poor long-suffering
saint of a coach tried his best to clean his own car as penance for
trying to help kids succeed in extra curricular activities. No good
deed. . . no good deed, indeed.
