I've been bringing my lunch to work consistently for a couple of months. I've only cheated twice. Yesterday, I just couldn't face the frozen meal. I needed something fresh. Something perky. Something with a little zip, a little zap, a little zing. Mmmmm. Salad.
And the cafe downstairs has my favorite taco salad ever. It's a veggie salad with black or pinto beans, lettuce, tomato, black olives, cheese and spring onions, with fresh salsa. It's a little bit of heaven.
Anyway. The problem was those tomatoes. I looked at them. I wondered. Should I? Surely, they wouldn't put tomatoes on my salad if there was any chance of salmonella? Surely, it would be bad for business to poison customers with tainted produce? And of course, the salsa. It's cooked. But I doubt it's cooked at a high enough temp to kill food cooties. Is it worth the risk? It is a damn good salad. Ah, well. Dig in.
So around 5 I start feeling a little wobbly. Not disabling. Just . . . off. In the stomach area. Not good. I muscle through the rest of the work day. But by the time I get home I feel like hell. Unfortunately, I'm a complete hypochondriac when it comes to food poisoning. So I can't tell if it's actually a hideous case of salmonella, where I will end up in the hospital. Or just a raging case of psychosomatic gastrointestinal distress, brought on by the fact that I'm completely neurotic and too lazy to get the years of psychoanalysis I so richly deserve. So, one or the other.
What do I do? What do I do? Do I drink a lot of water and try to flush the imaginary cooties out of my system? Do I chew some Tums and hope it will go away? Or do I go to the emergency room and hope that it really is salmonella, so that I don't look like a raging nutbag?
I finally decided to take my all-purpose cure all. I drank a couple of shots of bourbon and took a nap. All better. Jim Beam - kills the imaginary food cooties, makes you go night-night. Good for whatever ails ya.
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