Shuddering Tales Of Vomit

[MrVisible]

One lovely summer day in Colorado, I felt a little queasy. I think it was food poisoning from a questionable restaurant the night before; whatever the case, all food left my body by eight a.m., in a determined but unremarkable regurgitative fashion.

The only problem left was that I was hungry. Ravenous. But anything I tried to eat made me immediately nauseous.

By about three that afternoon, I hadn’t eaten anything successfully; physically, I felt almost fine, but food was out of the question. I had, however, discovered that water apparently agreed with my digestive system, and made me feel a lot less hungry as well. So, I drank a lot of it. A large quantity of water.

Needless to say, shortly thereafter, I felt, once again, a little queasy. I went outside (a lovely pastoral scene; trees, sunshine, birds chirping, small animals singing, etc. (I think I was a little feverish, perhaps)), and braced myself for another round of puking.

I opened my mouth, and out came a solid column of completely clear liquid, which travelled in a straight line for about four feet before arcing downward gracefully toward the shrubbery. It actually had recoil; I staggered back a couple of steps. It was one of the most surreal things that has ever happened to me; this perfect, dare I say beautiful, pillar of water issuing forth explosively from my face. It looked like I was expelling that alien from The Abyss.

My first and so far only experience with projectile vomiting.

[miamouse]

My parents were in town, and took everyone out to dinner. We all went to a restaurant and since big bro had the minivan, and I wasn’t driving, so my brain [homersimpson]“Stoopid Brain”[/homersimpson] says ‘I’m gonna get myself a drink.’ Which Mr. Mouse dutifully kept filled.

Now, since I have become the responsible mother of three it is safe to say that considerable time (7-8 years) has passed since I had drunk anything stronger than kool-aid. So I really didn’t know my own strength, (or lack of it in this case). I was fine the whole time, but on the way home I started to feel embarrassed. I was SOOOOO drunk. In front of my family. I could have sworn I felt my brothers staring at me with a look that says, “Well, what do you expect, sooner or later she was gonna end up just like ***.” I ran in to the house before anyone had the chance to see me. Hubby nursed me through the next few hours while I spilled my guts onto the floor. I came back down later after everyone left and apologized up and down to anybody I came across. My mom reassured me that I didn’t look drunk, just a little happy. Umm, thanks mom.

[Stuffy]

Two Stories, the first 2 weeks ago.

The boys have just finished dinner. The wife an I are siting on the sofa. Stuffinb2, comes out of the bathroom. Naomi says she doesn’t think Stuffinb2 looks well. I agree. I go an get the thermometer. “Come here Stuffinb2, open your mouth” "Yakkkk!!! The front of my shirt is covered in the remains of spaghetti and meatballs.
12-15 years ago.

I’m single, living in Seattle in an apartment on a hill that overlooks Boeing. Four of my buddies are there. Several women drift in and out during the day/night. On the menu: 24 pk of Coors, Vodkamelon, Doritoes and Jack Daniels. I swear I was fine until I ate the Doritoes and had a shot of JD. Cue sweat machine. Begin stomach churn. Raise temperature by 50 degrees.

I stumble out onto the balcony. It had been snowing that day. Ah invigorating night. A few deep breaths is all I need. “Yakkkk” I leave a wide spray 4-6ft long on fresh snow. I stumble forward, and slip down the hill into my newly created work of art. I was quite comfortable at that point. The snow was better than leaning againt the side of the toilet bowl.

[Gundy]

My only really horrible vomitrocious episode I personally have had was alcohol related. I agreed to meet my boyfriend after work for an evening with his co-workers at a local bar. So I run home, change, take my son to the sitter’s, and hop the (Boston) T back into town. It’s now 7 p.m. and my 5’6", 120-lb self hasn’t had anything to eat since 11 a.m. After one tall gin and tonic, I’m feeling brave enough to loudly proclaim to my 6’3", 195-lb boyfriend that I can drink his sorry ass under the table. He grins and snorts, “you’re on”, and I proceed to down many, many Tanqueray & tonics, matching him drink for drink. I have no idea how much I drank that night, but next thing I recall is taking the train home. By the second stop, Downtown Crossing, I am on the floor under the seats and retching. The ride proceeded thusly:

South Station: stuck my head out of the doors to puke
Andrew: stuck my head out of the doors to puke, and caught pukey hair in doors upon their closing
UMass: got hair out of doors
Wollaston: passed out on boyfriend’s lap
Quincy Center: debarked train, puked in every garbage can on the way to the parking lot

After that, I understand I was loaded into the back of a cab, fed aspirin, and carried to bed. The puking, however, I remember very, very well.

Jadis, my son did to me exactly what you did to your mom. Then he made it to the bathroom it exploded vomit (and stuff from the other end) all over the walls, floor, and toilet. That was a baaad night.

Oh, and there was the time my nephew was visiting my parents (and me and my son) in Chicago. He woke up feeling sick, but since we had plans to go the beach that day, he insisted he would be fine. My mom gets him into the car to pick us up, and she had to pull over once for him to throw up. He made it to my house, runs in, and barfs in my toilet. He still insists he’s fine. We stop at KFC for some picnic food, he pukes a block away. We get to the beach, he eats a TON, plays in the very strong waves for hours, and on the way home, yacks into MY BEACH TOWEL. And my son’s sand bucket. Which my mom gives to me to hold. The route is now called “The Anthony Vomit Tour of St. Ben’s”.

[Cheesesteak]

28th birthday party, I, and 7-8 of my friends go down to NYC for dinner. We go to the Riodizio, a Brazilian BBQ all-you-can-eat place. After a very filling meal, mostly beef and some strange Brazilian margarita type drinks, we head out to the club.

By this time I’m pretty well buzzed, and we head into Polly Esthers, a fun little 70s/80s club downtown. Friend #1 does a “birthday shot” with me… a few minutes later, Friend #2 does a “birthday shot” with me… a few minutes later, you get my drift.

Completely sloshed, we head back up to the suburbs. We are on some cross street in Greenwich Village when it starts to get to me. I roll down the window and hang my head out, while we were stopped right in front of a nice outdoor cafe. Luckily for them, I managed to hang on until traffic started again.

We are on the West Side Highway doing 60 when it finally lets go. Head hanging out of the window, I painted the side of my cousin’s poor car with partially digested beef. Totally zonked out of my mind, I sit back in the car, turn to my cousin and say “You’re going to be really pissed at me in the morning.”

Ahhh, the joys of birthdays.

[Koldanar]

In my memory I only recall puking some 5 or 6 times in my life without the aid of alcohol, but only one of those qualifies for this thread.
I must have been about 7 or 8 when my parents decided to visit my great grandparent’s grave. I told my parents I didn’t feel well that day, but of course my mother told me that I would feel better. I believe my stomach took exception to this and marked her as it’s primary target. We left the graveyard and continued home, amidst my pleas for some compassion…roughly 20 minutes into the drive i was no longer requesting. I DEMANDED a pull over. We were about 2 minutes too late. Red, explosive puke all over my half of the car. When I say explosive, I mean everything, from the car door, to the seat in front of me, to some of the back of my mother, bathed in puke. I got some apologies, and a nice new transformer for that one

[DaToad]

I have had several vomit episodes, but this one was by far the most painful.

I was working overseas and living in a very nice villa. My next door neighbors worked for the French Embassy, and invited me to a party at their house. Everyone there was from different embassies and I was having a great time with some women from Sweden and Denmark. All they had in the way of adult beverages were wine and scotch, neither of which I like to drink. I did drink the scotch however. Lots of it. Anyway it got late, and I had the old gut rumbling, so I decided to get phone numbers, and make my exit. Rather than go through the house and out to the street, I decided to just jump over the wall.

In my diminished capacity, I forgot that my side of the wall was about 5 feet lower than my neighbors side. The neighbors side was about chest high, so it was easy to hop up on. I gave my best cavalier wave to all the women and leapt down, crashed and fell backwards into the rose bushes. I was pretty beat up, and had thorns stuck in my back, butt, arms, and legs, but I was anesthetized and felt little pain. I had no idea how bad it was. My roommate, Mike was looking over the wall having a good laugh, as I crawled out of the bushes and stumbled into the house.

I got to my bedroom, only to realize I was going to lose the scotch and hors d’oeuvres roiling in my gut. I got to the bathroom, and found the thunder mug without turning on the lights, and it was bombs away. I spewed 4 or 5 times, and felt much better. Still drunk, but no longer sick. I found the lights and discovered that the lid was down and covered with puke. Fortunately the whole bathroom was tiled, and had a large drain in the floor. The shower was the kind with the hand hose, so I took off my clothes and began spraying the mess down the drain. I guess I kinda got into cleaning, and started scrubbing the bathroom. My other roommate, Julian, came home, and seeing the light and hearing the water running, came to investigate. There I was drunk, naked, scratched and bleeding, cleaning the bathroom. My roommate hosed me down, and got me out of the bathroom. He spent an hour digging the thorns out, and cleaning up the scratches with antiseptic. I haven’t had a drop of scotch since. And my friend Julian, well, he never tires of telling this story.

[Knighted_Vorpal_Sword]

. . . because my story involves not 1, not 2, not 3 but 4 people puking, and children, and 1 bathroom, all in a small apartment.

My wife and I were attending a banquet when my pager went off. I called the babysitter (my sister), and she told me that the two oldest kids were puking their brains out. Since Mrs. KVS does not deal well with vomit, I quickly decided that I would go home and Mrs. KVS would get a ride when the banquet was over.

I got home, and found my sister wasn’t kidding. Two oldest kids (IIRC, 6 and 4 1/2) were alternating throwing up in the bathroom, while the littlest one (2) was running in and out of the bathroom, pretending to throw up like her older siblings.

Well, I proceed to get everything cleaned up and get everyone calmed down. I collect all the soiled sheets, pillowcases, pajamas, etc. I clean the floors. Then, Mrs. KVS walks in and says she isn’t feeling well. At around 1 a.m., I hear her run into the bathroom and throw up. Then, at around 2, the little one throws up . . . and the older two are still sick.

I was walking around with a sheet tied over my nose and mouth, running up and down to the laundry room (3 stories down), rinsing vomit off sheets and pj’s.

Needless to say, I stayed home the next day and did 10 loads of laundry (no exaggeration here!!)

[ReillyDog]

Ahhhhh, my fondest vomitous memory. Now that would have to be what I (and my mates) have come to know as the “magical pizza log”.

After a good night of drunken debauchery, we were finishing off our last few beers and indulging in quite a large italian pie (extra cheese, of course). Later that night, after I couldn’t convince the couch to stop spinning, it became all too obvious that I’d only rented the pizza… off to talk to my good friend Ralph on the big white telephone.

The amazing part was the texture and consistency of the puke. It came from deep inside (I think perhaps maybe even from my toes), and came out like a solid (imagine chewed and then formed back together) tube… kinda like a skinned sausage I guess. I can recall while this thing was snaking out of my over stretched mouth “my god, this thing is HUGE! if it gets stuck, I’m gonna suffocate!”. it didn’t, and therefore I didn’t.

The next morning there were about 10 of us all admiring the shape, structure and consitency of what has come to be known as the “magical pizza log” still in the bowl. We (I) had to break it up with a stick before it would flush.

Now that reminds me of another story… but I’ll save that for a different thread.

[Grimace]

Well, I guess i’m lucky. All my personal vomits have been pretty simplistic, either in the toilet or trashcan.

BUT, I have had two occurances, that have brought me to the point that if I see it or smell it, i’m tossin’ cookies.
1st Incident:
Back in my Law Enforcement days, in a nice, small midwestern town, We had decided to pick up one of the Local drunks and drive him home, cause we didn’t want to have to do the reports of the aforementioned drunk getting plowed by a car as he was walking all over the roadsides.

Well, here we are, in an '85 Crown Victoria, with the cloth seats, and oh, did I mention, this was before they had installed the steel/plexiglass shield between the front and back seats?

Well, we get the drunk in the car, and start taking off, when he leans up in between us and says, “guysh, I think i’m gonna be,” RETCH!!!

Right in between us on the front seat. All over the logbooks, the ticketbook, radar gun, the Cell phone (one of those old ones, that had a case for the transmitter…hey it was a while ago!), and some reports we had been working on. How we stayed on the road, and didn’t go flying off into oncoming traffic on I-44, is beyond me.

Well the other officer I’m with (we’ll call him Dick, 'cuase he was the muni’s detective), pulls the crusier over and tells the lush to get the heck out of the car, and after he does, proceded to the do it yourself car wash, where we bagged all the electronics with trash bags, hosed out the interior, and then used the vaccum to remove the exess water. We thought we did a pretty good job in cleaning it all up. Well, we take the cruiser back to the station, and get another one that’s dryer, figuring that one will dry out before 1st shift comes on.

Whoops! We come in the next day, and the crusier is STILL sitting in the parking lot, and for some reason you can’t see in the car. It’s as if the windows are frosted. Uh-oh, we forgot to crack all the windows, and it had gotten up to 90 that day, so all the moisture condensated on the interior of the crusier.

Thank god the Chief was laughing to hard when he found out what happened to do anything to us over that.

Incedent 2:

During my Fast food joint Managing days, we had a group of 3-4 people with Down’s Syndrom come in with their helpers/guardians, and get some food. Well after about 15 min. after they get their food, I hear what sounds like one HUGE cat coughing up a hairball, and then BLEEEEECH!!!

I go running around the corner to see what happened, and was met with a scene from a nightmare.

We had one of those “serve yourself” Drink stations where you go and get your own soda. Well they were sitting right next to that, and the one who got sick, apparently thought…it has a drain, and decided to let loose there. There was puke ALL over the soda machine. peices of half digested lettuce hanging from the soda dispensers, half digested shrimp floating in the catch tray, and just a horrible mess ALL over the machine and it’s parts.

It took almost 2 hours to clean that machine and I used two gallons of bleach doing it.

And I STILL can’t get myself to get a soda from that machine to this day when I go in there to get a drink, and this happened almost 6 years ago.

[lieu]

Four of us got dates and went to see Van Halen about twenty years ago. Settling in our seats, my friend spilled his beer on a guy’s date sitting in front of them, garnering him dirty look number one.

My friend’s chatter with his date got dirty look number two.

But that was the last one. When he threw up on the guy’s date’s head and back they just got up and left.

[Olentzero]

Latkes and goyim, I present for your perusal… The Uzbekistan Incident.

During my stay in Russia, us year-long students got a week’s vacation anywhere we wanted to go. Everybody else had been to Moscow so they didn’t wanna go there - instead it was decided on Central Asia. About halfway through the stay we arrange to have a traditional Uzbek dinner at a resident’s house - someone who did this kind of thing for the extra bucks and was good at it.

The day of, I wake up feeling kinda queasy. Not to worry - one of my Petersburg friends had fixed me up with a manganese preparate to kill of any nasty bugglies I might encounter. So I whip up a cup, drink it down, and figure that’s it for the matter.

Oh no. We get to the house, and we’re all seated, waiting for the meal - and every single last klaxon goes off in my head. “I need the toilet”, I mutter to our guide, and we take off in search of it. The host catches us in the courtyard and asks what’s wrong. I begin to reply “I need the toilet” but things I swear I didn’t have in my stomach thirty seconds earlier beat the first syllable out. Projectile style. For a good six feet. Barely missing the host, as I remember.

Wordlessly the host hustles me to the toilet (which is in another part of the courtyard) and again, from six feet away, I score a “nothing but net” heave. After that I felt a thousand times better, but I was pretty much banished from the feast.

[BarbieOrBritney]

As it happens, I, right now, have the flu, the awful barf-your-brains-out-every-hour-unless-you-take-approximately-530,840-aspirin variety. When it comes to weak areas of my body, my stomach is definitely one of them. I can count instances of humorous vomit…

1. I was about 9, and about to be going on a skiing trip up in Vermont with my mother. We had woken up that morning at about 5, at which time I was feeling a little nauseous, but Mom dismissed it as nervousness and waking up too early (I still don’t get it). We got into the car, and about 6 minutes later, I immediately started throwing up. Mom told me it was carsickness and it would go away. We finally reach the bus that we’re going to be taking up to the resort, and I queasily make my way onto it, taking a seat next to a young boy playing a Gameboy (this was the tacky early 90s). I proceeded to vomit allll over him and his Nintendo device. This trend continued the whole 7-hour ride up there. The whole…freaking…ride. It turned out not to be nerves or carsickness, but the flu. Vomit looks kinda nasty in the snow.

2. I was 11 and going to school with my first period, my too-young body being wracked with awful Aunt Flo cramps. Mom gave me some Tylenol for the pain (since then, I’ve learned to only trust Midol :D) and it seemed to be working until we got outside to get in the car, where I upchucked all over the pavement. Did I mention Cute Neighbor Boy (who was mowing the lawn) saw the whole thing…and offered to clean it up?

And Gundy, I have, more than once, done the vomit-explosion thing.

[bobkitty]

I have been laughing my ass off at these posts. My cow-orker doesn’t want to hear any of them, since she saw the title of the thread. Her loss.

I was sick for my First Communion. Puked before, during, and after the ceremony. My mom was so bent on me getting this over with that she sent me into the church with a plastic baggie tucked between my hands. I was removed for most of the ceremony, brought in long enough to do the actual receiving of the communion, then quickly ushered back out. There’s still some debate as to whether the whole thing was official or not, since I promptly threw up the Host. Guess God didn’t like me even way back then.

More recently, I was having one of those times of the month where I have no clue what I want to eat. I graze for about 6 days a month… little here, little there. I didn’t feel sick, but had gone to the bathroom to take care of normal activities. Next thing I knew, I was projectile vomiting into the sink. Let me just tell you, mashed potatoes + a tangerine + Cheez-its do not make for a pleasant return appearance. Getting it down the sink drain was even less pleasant.

Undergrad, Spring Formal. My neighbor, who we referred to as The Jewish Muppet, had gotten up the nerve to ask out this lovely little underclasswoman. He got all dressed up, took her out to dinner, then to the dance. It was a magical evening. Til my date, as the four of us were standing around listening to the music and chatting, motioned for my neighbor’s date to come a little closer to us with the admonishment to not step in the huge pile of vomit on the floor. She looked, ‘eeewwwed’ and moved over to us, commenting on how rude some people can be. Meanwhile my date is whispering in my ear ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was her date…’ Only then do I notice that my neighbor is nowhere to be seen, and that the vomit remarkably resembles fettuchini alfredo, which he and his date had just been raving about.

-BK

[BarbieOrBritney]

The worst part, however, was that the Gameboy player in the first story recently died (rest his soul) and I never did get to apologize to him about it…and wow, do I feel really guilty.

[hardygrrl]

Ok, there’s the time I puked during a hockey game…

Two years ago. I had felt crappy all day but I always play unless I’m benched. Hell, I’d play tonight with two cracked ribs. So it’s six minutes into the second period. I get an elbow to the stomach. Since I don’t wear a mask or mouthguard, just a helmet, I managed to puke all over the person elbowing me. Serves him right.

And the time I was puked on by two people.

I used to take care of my nephews. Early fall, I have both boys with me. At the time, they were 4 and six months. I had just given the baby his bottle and was trying to get him down for a nap when he pukes down my back. No problem, I think, I’ll just clean him up and then I’ll change shirts.

I go to do that and the four year old says " I feel sick " and is looking very peaked. So, with the baby in my left arm, I pick up the other with my right arm and take him into the bathroom. I tell him to go ahead if he feels sick, to be sick in the toilet.

He looks at me and pukes on me. I was wearing a v-neck shirt that day, and he managed to puke down it. I had puke in my bra. I was a giant vomit sandwich.

So I shrugged and took them both upstairs, got them both a change of clothes, borrowed a shirt from my brother-in=law, put them in the tub and washed up as best I could in the sink while watching them. (I’ll point out the baby was in a seat and I NEVER took my eyes off him) Then I coated the tub and sink in cleaner, threw all the clothes in the washer, got both of them to take a nap and busted out giggling.

[Kwyjibo]

I was in high school and I was at my friend Dave’s place with our other pal Ed.

The three of us had polished off a bottle of vodka and we are all slopping drunk. The night went on and we all past out.

In the middle of the night, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the “Technicolour Yawn”. I got up to see who it was and noticed Ed was in the bathroom chucking.

I got up to see if he was ok and that was when Dave got up after hearing Ed as well.

Dave and I walked in and asked Ed if he was ok. He ignored us and continued. We staying in the bathroom to make sure he would be fine when I suddenly got the urge to puke as well. (Watching someone puke seems to do that to me.)

When Ed was done with one of his convulsions, I took a turn and made my contribution. I came up from the first chuck, and then Ed went back and let some more go.

This went on for about a minute. He took a turn, then me, then Ed.

That’s when Ed did something he regrets to this day. He took my turn. But I didn’t stop to wait.

<Blech!>

Right down the back of Ed’s head. We all had a laugh and then cleaned Ed up. (His hair was a mess as the bile started to burn it.)

We all went back to bed and slept through the night.

No, I don’t know if this is a stereotype, but all the people I know from the Mediterranean had a room in the house that is always kept clean and no one is allowed into. My buddy Dave was Maltese and they had such a room.

The next morning, Dave’s mum came down and started thumping on Dave’s door for him to get up. We both got up and following her up the stairs.

There was Ed, on the good couch which he had puked all over while sleeping.

Dave’s mum was not impressed, but I thought it was funnier than hell.

That’s all there was. We were all given a stern warning about drinking in their house again.

[MONTY2]

Here’s one…
I had all my nieces for the day. Both my sisters let me borrow their little rays of sunshine so I had 6 little girls ranging in age from 6 to 12. We went to the movies, to the park, shopping and made one last stop at 7-11 before going home. The girls wanted hot dogs and slurpies… What the hell I figure. They’ve eaten just about everything little girls aren’t supposed to eat today so, why not a hot dogs and a slurpie before I give them back to their parents? What was I thinking?
We made it to the house. My sisters were there and they had just begun to comment on how amazed they were that I was able to uneventfully handle 6 kids alone, when I noticed the look on one of their faces.
The “I’m about to explode” look spread to all their faces and they all started projectile vomiting almost in unison. It got everywhere. I had warm hotdog/slurpie/popcorn/candy chunks sliding between my toes, it was on the walls, on the carpet, I mean everywhere.
I am a sympathetic vomiter, usually just smelling vomit is enough to make me puke. The smell, sight, sounds coming from 6 little vomit machines was so nasty I think everybody in the whole house started puking.
Needless to say, I can’t eat hotdogs anymore.

[Kwyjibo]

Trinity just reminded me of another time…:rolleyes:

After high school, I moved well out of the city and all my high school pals came out to see me.

At that time, my drink of choice was Zambuca and I could easily polish off a bottle in a night. Dave (the same Dave from the story above decided to treat me and brought me two bottles.)

To cut a long story short, we were all sitting in the basement and I finished the first bottle. (This is where my memory of the night ends. The rest is a blur.) I had apparently polished off the second one (Or most of it.) and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Dave called my father down as I was laying on the carpet and Zambuca was just running out of my mouth. Not puking, no convulsions, just running out on to the carpet.

My brothers were pissing themselves laughing while my dad and Rocko picked me up to take me to the bathroom to clean me up. Rocko figured it was a good time to loose his grip on me and I fell to the floor again, but my head decided to hit the steel support beam on the way down.

They picked me back up again and dragged me up the stairs to the small bathroom there. Rocko runs the cold water to splash on my face to bring me right around. (But Rock didn’t know the taps in that bathroom were backwards.)

I clumsily managed to splash the water on my face. Rocko asked if I was ok, I slurred that I was fine. He then noticed that my face was beat red and the water was steaming. He called my dad in and they turned off the hot water and got the cold running.

After that, they put me to bed.

I woke up the next morning feeling very refreshed. My dad sat me down and told me what happened. He took me to the basement to show me the Zambuca puddle stain I had left. (He was laughing the whole time.) I told him I was sorry about everything and he said not to worry about it. This sort of thing has happened to him when he as a kid. But it only ever happened once.

My mum gave me the story about rock stars dying while in that state, which freaked me out.

I’ve never touched Zambuca since then, nor have I ever gotten that drunk again.
(But what a story! )

[lieu]

Ditto on the infectious sound of retch.

Eight of us went to Cabo for a bachelor party. The night before a full day of marlin fishing we drank margaritas and cervesa heavily, then dragged our sorry asses onto a pitching boat.

I started the tuna chumming before we’d cleared the harbor. The sound of me coughing up my testicles made my buddy Egg start to heave. Then Shape started adding tidbits and we had three of the boat sides putting a great deal more into the water than we were pulling out.

Then I looked at Tom. Bwhaaaa! Have you ever had a green friend? To this day the memory of that seafoam tint and queasy expression on his face just doubles me over in fits. Then he started to blow. Like a freakin’ whale.

Okay, now I’m laughing and pukin’. Laughing and pukin’. Was that ever exhausting.

All the while our Mexican crew was just smiling at us stupid Gringos. Yeah, we pretty much deserved it.