So my family and I decided to treat ourselves and go out for a little Italian cuisine last night at Bazil here in Rochacha. The meal was outstanding only to be topped of with a bottle of Savignon Blanc. Then at the end of the meal, my wife and I noticed that her son had not touched his entree. We thought it was a little weird, but we had already had breadsticks, mozzarella sticks and fried calamari. So perhaps he filled himself up with that.
We're not sure if that was the case but he sure as heck wasn't about to eat anymore. He started acting really sleepy and with this one statement we knew impending doom was upon us.
"My stomach hurts, can I use the bathroom to puke". My wife and I looked at each other in horror and my seating location on the outside of the booth nominated me for barf duty. The only problem was I had no idea where the freakin bathroom was.
So instictively, I grabbed him and headed for the front of the restaraunt. Our journey didn't really go as I had planned. After we took about four steps, he stopped dead in his tracks and blew chunks all over the floor in between two tables full of patrons. I wasn't quite sure of the spray radius but looking back I feel like these people would have been extremely fortunate to avoid a most grotesque foot shower.
After this, I was feeling fairly panicked. We made another few steps and reapeated the last step all over again. During this, I was able to locate a waitress and get directions to the bathroom. Unfortunately, we stopped one more time on the way to the bathroom. This time I was so determined to get to the bathroom I pushed my step-son directly into what he left on the floor, making him slip and fall right into the large pile of nasty. This sucked on many levels. First off, I felt tremendous guilt for probably causing this spill. Secondly, this created quite a mess between him and I. Spreading his vomit all over our legs and feet.
So we finally got to the restroom, and of coarse, the stall is locked. I told my step-son to use the urinal. While no the most desired location, it was better than in the middle of the restaurant. As fate would have it, when we did finally get in to the stall, he had already finished the job. I spent the next twenty minutes cleaning him off, as well as myself. I called my wife from within the bathroom and told her we were heading for the exit. She was one step ahead of me, already waiting outside the bathroom. She told me she had paid but we still needed to leave a tip. Upon getting back to the table, everything was gone and ready for the next customer. At this point the waitress must have thought we were the worst customer ever. No tip, puke everywhere. Alas, I found her nearby and unloaded my wallet into her hand and scurried out of the establishment hoping nobody remembered me as the puking kid's escourt.
Anyone else have any stories like this?