A Fish Story

I searched my blog and found that I haven’t used the word puke nearly enough. So, I have another puke story – this one from sophomore year at Westwood High. Don’t worry, this one does not involve cows, it involves fish. I also can’t tell this story without you seeing it coming down Broadway so I apologize in advance if your anticipation exceeds the payoff. I am reminded of this story because I just ran into a friend of mine at a restaurant and had a lovely chat with him. He has a cute daughter who is graduating this year – also a plus as I have a son.

Jim, whose real name is Jim, is 2 years older than I am – making him a lofty senior when I was a lowly sophomore. Steve, the other principal in this story, was also a senior. They were contemporaries of Dennis. Jim had a knack, a gift, or a talent which I did not discuss with his children while they were in the restaurant. He could puke on command. I’m not sure how this superpower helped him but somehow we were jealous of this ability when we were in high school. He assured us that when he really puked – that is when he was sick and retching – it was nasty, painful, uncomfortable, etc. much like the experiences we all can tell and re-tell before being shut down by the wimpy weak-stomached (WWS) in our midst. However, in daily life, he could reproduce a meal with great ease and no discomfort.

One day at Mc Don Al Ds, Micky dees, you get it, right, I am hiding this from the corporate name protection police, he actually ate a Begg Meck, regurgitated it back into the styro-container that used to house these burgers before we all turned green, and tried to return it. He claimed it was ‘undercooked.’ Gross, I know. But it gets better (or worse if you are a WWS). Jim often reproduced meals, which became boring after three to four years.

Senior year, there was a school-wide dance held in the gym for charity. There were several raffle-type activities yielding funds to be given to a worthy charity, I’m sure. One of the evening’s activities was goldfish swallowing. You can see it coming, can’t you? You could spend $1 on a goldfish that you would then have to swallow – all in the name of charity.

Not to be outdone, Jim and Steve teamed up in the name of charity as well. They cornered the DJ (from a local radio station who happened to be working our dance) and told him that between the two of them they would swallow the same goldfish. Pause. Really? How? Jim would eat the goldfish, blanch it back up, and Steve would eat it again. The DJ stopped the music and announced the offer these guys had made and began the bidding. I wish I could remember how high the bidding got – somewhere around $200 or so I think. Once the bidding stopped, a hush fell over the crowd as Jim ate a goldfish (and drank a little of the water from the fish tank for effect). A minute later, up came the fish back into a cup filled with other stomach contents. The DJ verified that indeed there was a little fish in the mixture so Steve grabbed the cup, hesitated slightly, and then drank it. Without peer pressure I don’t think he could have kept that concoction down. But he did. And we were all amazed at the combination of guts and stupidity. How does anyone survive high school?