A cautionary tale of embarrassment and near death at the hands of a baby pig
*The names of all involved have been changed in order to protect them from being associated with me and the overall events of the evening*
It was beautiful Friday afternoon in New York City. I had arrived to work early that day in hopes of cutting out a little short to meet a high school classmate of mine whom I had not seen in 22 years.
My friend, Evan Chadswick, had finished his appointment in midtown and we decided to meet at The Gingerman for a few pints. Over the next hour, we enjoyed catching up on old times and discussed our lives over from the past 2+ decades. As we were paying the tab, Evan mentioned he was meeting a friend of his from college and her boyfriend for drinks. He invited me to come along. This was shaping up to be a great evening! Hitting Manhattan with a friend I hadn't seen in years for dinner and drinks. What a great way to wrap up the week!
It proved challenging to get a cab, so Evan and I walked south to Maialino Restaurant at Gramercy Park. It was a great spot and there was a man playing the violin for onlookers right outside the front doors as we entered the establishment. We ordered a drink at the bar and were quickly escorted to our table in the front of the restaurant.
Here I was at a nice restaurant in NYC with my old friend Evan. We had met up with his friend Sally and her boyfriend Toby for a wonderful dinner. We raised a glass and toasted to what was going to be a fantastic meal.
We ordered a few appetizers and another round of libations. We talked, we ate, and we drank. Good times! While deciding on our main course, the waiter explained that they were known for their meats and, specifically, the Full Suckling Pig. I had obviously heard of suckling pig but had never eaten it. We ordered it for the table.
Suckling Pig! What a night!
The main course arrived and it looked delicious. The moist sections of tender meat glistened underneath the darker pieces of crispy fried skin. My mouth immediately began to water. We all grabbed a section for our individual plates along with a side of roasted carrots and proceeded to dine on the perfectly prepared swine.
First bite. It was delicious. The flesh of the pork was moist and flavorful.
Second bite. I added a piece of the fried skin. It added a welcomed crunch in contrast to the melt-in-your mouth pork. I remarked to Evan that it tasted a bit like fancy pork rinds, if such a thing exists. He agreed.
Third bite. In recollection, I believe at this time I could hear the faint sounds of the man outside with the violin as he began to play the "Theme from Jaws". Duhn-Duhn…
There was a little tightness in my throat. Duhn-Duhn…
I coughed. It didn't help. Duhn-Duhn-Duhn-Duhn…
I grabbed my vodka-tonic to wash down the food that seemed to have gotten lodged in my throat. I tried to take a couple of big gulps. Duhn-Duhn-Duhn-Duhn…DUHNTITA…
Then things got...interesting.
I gagged. The drink not only wouldn’t go down my throat but it was beginning to come back up with full force. My throat was about to become the vessel of a human version of Old Faithful. I quickly clasped my hand over my mouth trying to stifle the cocktail from emerging. It began to leak through fingers. I gave one more attempt to swallow. Instead I coughed. My drink sprayed through my fingers, in a fine mist, and onto my tablemates.
If the sun had been shining in through the window, I'm quite certain it would have produced a lovely rainbow.
However, this was no time for rainbows. I panicked as I ran through the doors and out onto the sidewalk. I found the closest tree and let out a sound similar to what I image a yak would sound like if it had swallowed a live cat.
My eyes were bulging. I couldn't catch a breath as I bent over the base of a tree with my mouth agape. I truly could not breath.
Suddenly (and I'll omit the awful details), I threw up and the welcomed air off Lexington Avenue gushed into my lungs. I straightened myself and took a deep breath. Bleary eyed I could sense a few people near me were clearly mortified. Whatever. I could breath. I walked back into the restaurant.
Obviously, I was embarrassed and apologized to Evan, Sally and Toby. They took it well and I tried to make a joke about spitting on the table. They laughed it off and told me it was no big deal. They were gracious.
Conversation picked back up as I picked up my glass of water. I tipped the glass toward my mouth and as the ice-cold water slid past my lips I realized that IT WAS HAPPENING AGAIN!!!
Toby uttered a horrified, "Uh oh" just as I sprayed him with water from the fire hose that was suddenly and cleverly disguised as my mouth.
Less that one minute after coming back into the restaurant, I was running back through the door and around the corner of the building. Why I ran around the corner is still a bit of a mystery. I was clearly in distress while choking but my flight response apparently didn't want me to vomit in the same spot twice.
This time the water and some food came up much quicker. I was hunched over once again gasping for air with certain contents of my stomach on my jeans and shoes. I looked up and saw a young couple walking toward me. Instead of asking me if I was ok, they sped up and kept a 5 ft. distance in case I was a rabid animal. I probably would have done the same.
I stood up after realizing I could breath normally. However, it still felt like something was in the bottom of my throat. Nothing felt stuck but I was having a difficult time trying to swallow. Nothing would go down my throat. That could be a problem.
I had a decision to make and silently weighed my options:
A) Go back into the restaurant - Not a chance in Hell.
B) Go to the nearest hospital - I hate hospitals.
C) Catch the next train home and hope everything works out - BINGO!
I got to Penn Station and threw up in the men's room (note - I'm quite certain more people actually vomit in the toilets at Penn than actually use the facilities for normal purposes).
The commute home was brutal. I was texting with Evan so he didn't think I was a complete flake for bailing on dinner after spitting on him and his friends. That was a tough sell.
I got home and immediately my wife (and mother-in-law who happened to be visiting from out of town) knew something wasn't right. I apparently didn't look to well and when I explained the situation, they insisted that we go to the emergency room. I tried to explain that I had already decided on Option C and not Option B, but she would hear none of it.
I was admitted into the hospital and was quickly diagnosed with having food (pig) stuck in my esophagus.
The rest of the evening was a blur of nurses laughing that I had a baby pig stuck in my esophagus and laying in an emergency room amid stabbing victims and inebriated assholes. Finally, after 11 hours, I was the recipient of my first (and hopefully last) endoscopy procedure.
Two months later, Evan was back in NYC and we agreed to meet again for dinner.
We had a great time at Jamba Juice.
