That Blows

Today at work we had what we call a Make and Take- we demonstrate a cute project and customers can come up the scrapbooking counter and make it for free and take it home. Greedy folks swarm like flies, constantly trying to start too early, make extras for "my friend that's over there somewhere", and stuff their pockets with anything they can get their hands on. After today, I almost don't mind all that.

About ten minutes early today, a girl and her mother began hovering. We told them they had ten minutes to wait, which was code for Stop Crowding Us And Go Away. But they did not. Instead, they nodded eagerly and put their elbows on the counter to pass the time by staring at us.

When the time was up we let them begin, and the girl, approximately 11 years old, was making conversation with me, remarking on obvious facts, and laughing happily. Several other women and children stood around and beside her, crafting away. As the girl poured some glue into her clear glass ornament, she calmly turned her head to the right and EXPLODED WITH PUKE!!!

Everyone went crazy! Kids were yelling and pointing, people were elbowing madly to get away from her, and behind the counter my co-workers and I tripped and bumbled around, trying to figure out what to do. Co-worker One grabbed the nearest trash can and as she lifted it over the counter to hand to the mom, Puke Child vividly demonstrated again where the phrase "blow chunks" came from. Like water from a whale's blow-hole, large yellow-y chunks shot geyser-fashion from her mouth, spraying the wall, the floor, our entire pen display, and her hand, which was in front of her mouth so that when the Puke Tidal Wave hit it, it ricocheted back into her face, hair, ears, eyes, neck, and down her shirt. Co-worker Two let out an involuntary howl of horror, and as I tried to quiet her, the smell hit. I had to mash my lips together viciously to avoid soaking the audience with their third puke in the span of 30 seconds.

Mom of Puke Child was very embarrassed and thus began angrily telling Puke Child, "You need to tell me these things! You should have let me know!" Puke Child, in her misery, stood motionless and dripping with puke from every orifice. I gave her approximately 647 paper towels and hurried them to the bathroom, trying to comfort the poor reeking girl. We reached the bathroom and it was occuppied. A lady from about ten feet away said there was a line of two other people in front of us. I kindly informed her that we would be cutting in that line.

Puke Child's mother took the opportunity to begin scolding her again, repeating, "You should have told me! You should have told me!"

"It's okay! She's sick! She didn't know!" I finally exclaimed and Puke Child looked at me gratefully.

"Feel better," I told her, patting the only safe spot on her body: the back of her head.