Spit Chop Suey

A friend reminded me of this today:

Spit is a guy I used to work with. He liked to puke, like as a hobby. He thought it was funny to throw up in situations where it'd put people on edge. Or he'd do it as a weird way to cock block a mate. No amount of charm will overcome your wingman yakking on the bar.

But the story you reminded me of: we were eating lunch in a fairly tough section of North St. Louis. For some reason, that town doesn't seem to have 'Chinese' restaurants, they only have chop suey houses. That was my impression anyway. In this case, we were eating D'Ron's Chop Suey. It was a little hole in the wall place, no dining room, just a cubby you stepped into to order and pay. We were leaning against the car, eating our supposedly chicken fried rice, and Spit pulled a piece of chicken out that had some skin to it, and I have to admit, I didn't want to eat any more myself when I saw this greasy, grayish thing.

But Spit had to make a production out of it. He dropped the cardboard lantern of fried rice on the sidewalk, bent at the waste and started puking for everything he was worth.

I throw up when other people throw up, it squeams me out that bad, so I'm covering my ears and trying to think of anything except the sounds of his heaving and retching.

Then, just when my own gorge was starting to rise, I notice a fat, aging, but nonetheless large and powerful looking black man standing in the doorway to D'Ron's Chop Suey. I think he was probably D'Ron, but he looked like he could pretty easily put me and Spit in his next batch of fried rice to get rid of the evidence after he was through reacting to what Spit had done to his lunch trade.

Even spit straightened up and got in the car quickly at this point, before the guy could work himself to actual violence.