A bit of spice
or “Spit or swallow?”
Tales of the subconscious part 3
I had just sat down in a sparsely-populated independent cinema. On my lap was a Styrofoam container packed with sushi rolls. I was in a haze of contentment. Little did I know that I was moments away from mortal battle with an unholy eruption of bile and vomit.
As I prepared to eat, I noticed that I was being checked out by a gay couple a few seats to my left. And you know how it is when you know you’re being watched—you instinctively want to impress. Yes, this was the time to display my superior chopstick technique and eat my sushi with utmost finesse. This was my moment to show those gay guys, and by extension, all the people of Earth, that Glen Callender UFA is the master.
I fixed my chopsticks upon a piece of California roll, deftly raised it aloft, and placed it in my mouth with a practised flourish. The move was executed flawlessly, except for one thing: unbeknownst to me, a large dollop of wasabi—you may know it as horseradish—had hitched a ride on the backside of the roll. I bit down, thinking myself very flash, and my tongue ignited in a fireball of pain.
Oh, shit.
At that moment, the world seemed to snap into slow motion. I was overcome by two conflicting instincts: the first, that instinct that compels one to avoid pain, urged me to spit out the roll immediately; and the second, that instinct that compels one to avoid humiliation, urged me not to. Tears in my eyes, I pondered my options. And at that moment, somewhere deep in my psyche, a voice spoke.
Glen.
Yeah?
This is your subconscious mind speaking. I don’t usually make conscious—
I know, I know. You don’t have to keep introducing yourself like that.
Fair enough. I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve got yourself into another ridiculous situation.
Yeah. I think I should just cut my losses and spit out this roll. I’ll look like a complete idiot in front of the gay guys, but I don’t see any alternative.
I’m sorry, but that is not acceptable. You must not look foolish in front of the gay guys.
Why not?
Because they’re fabulous.
Um, whatever. So what do you suggest I do?
Realistically, there’s only one course of action available. You must swallow. If you chew it up and gulp it down really fast, it won’t be too bad.
Fuck off. This is wasabi we’re talking about here. I really don’t think I can—
You can.
I can’t!
Just shut up and do it, Glen. It’ll work out. Trust me.
All right, you pushy bastard. Here goes—
I steeled my nerves and started chewing as fast as I could. My world exploded with pain.
“HRRRRRGH!” I gurgled, involuntarily spitting the gooey mess back onto my lap. I stared tearfully down at my once-appetizing meal, now covered in fragments of half-masticated wasabi and California roll.
I retched. Oh, fuck. The horrible, nuclear burn of the wasabi was triggering some kind of purge reflex. I retched again. A splash of bile rose into my mouth, and I swear, it actually tasted better. I forced it back down. It was taking all the self-control I had to not vomit on myself, right then and there. I fumbled for my bag, which luckily had a bottle of water in an outside pocket. Finally I found the bottle and washed out my mouth. The retching stopped.
Now that my peril had passed, I could concentrate more fully on being embarrassed. I glanced over at the gay guys. Yes, they were still staring at me. They’d seen it all, I knew it. From their vantage point, I’m sure they saw that hunk of wasabi as it headed into my mouth. They saw it go in, and they saw it come back out. And they’d watched me heave like a sick cat. My god, what a pathetic display. From their half-hidden grins, I could see they’d enjoyed the show.
Oh well. At this point, there was only one course of action available. Act nonchalant. And so, as if nothing had happened, I casually extricated the rest of my sushi from beneath the blobs of ejecta, and ate it. I ate with utmost finesse, and displayed superior chopstick technique. By the time the last piece of roll disappeared down my gullet, I’d shown those gay guys, and by extension, all the people of Earth, that Glen Callender UFA is a spectacular twit.
Then the lights dimmed and the movie started, and I heard that little voice speak up again:
Ha! I knew you’d fall for that one.
You—you abused my trust! You asshole!
I have to get my laughs somewhere, you loser. Well, I’m off to bed. Ta!
And that’s all there is to tell about the time I accidentally ate a lump of wasabi at the movies. Well, except for one thing. When the movie ended the gay guys offered to buy me a drink. Alas, the seductive power of my stupidity had struck again. •
Completed in 2004 for inclusion in the Wasting My Youth book, based on unused material from 2001.
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