About 13 years ago, a buddy of mine and I went out drinking, in the city, about 30 miles from home. I drank a lot. I puked somewhere in the city after we left the bar (no big deal). Got in the car, and my buddy started driving for home. I had the window rolled down, and was hanging my head out for the air. Someplace on the highway, I opened my eyes, and saw that we were passing a Mercedes convertible (with top down). I remember thinking, “well, I’d better not puke now…” Next thing I knew, we were home.
The next day, my buddy told me that just after we’d passed the Mercedes at 70 MPH, I let go. He floored the gas, and said that all he saw in the rear-view mirror was the Mercedes’ windshield wipers, working furiously to clean up my mess.
I told this story to someone else about a month later, and he offered me a case of beer if I would puke into a Miata. I turned it down, and haven’t had enough to drink to puke since then.
While not a story of where I have puked, this one is even better:
Way back when I was in high school, I went to a Halloween party at the home of a friend whose parents were away. By midnight or so, I found myself alone and sober (I was the only one who didn’t bring his own alcohol or raid the liquor cabinet) with two friends, P and D, who were very much drunk. The host of the party (E) had left to take his girlfriend home.
On the top floor of E’s home was a smallish living-room type area, with a couch and a TV. The three of us were upstairs watching Saturday Night Live, when P decided it was time to be sick. E’s bedroom was right off the living area, and you could get to E’s bathroom through E’s bedroom. I told D to stay on the couch, and helped P get into the bathroom, where he repeatedly puked into the toilet, flushed after himself, and told me not to worry about him, he’d be okay.
At some point in time, D decided to come into the bathroom, and with greatly slurred speech, he held forth about how it was a good thing that P was getting rid of all that crap. During this little monologue, D, who was six-feet something and well over 250 pounds of solid muscle (at 17 years of age), leaned back to rest against E’s bathroom sink. The sink could not take the strain, and folded down against the wall. The normally horizontal parts of the sink were then nearly vertical. Amazingly, neither of the pipes broke. I hustled D back out into the living area, wondering how this was going to go down with E (or E’s parents).
By the time I got back into the bathroom, P had decided that sitting on the bathroom floor with his back against the wall, next to E’s shower was a better place for himself. Occasionally, he would simply lean a bit to his right, and puke into the shower stall. He continued to tell me how he was going to be okay, when we heard some bumping and thumping.
I went out into E’s bedroom, and found D trying to get into the room. I told him to go back and sit down on the couch, but he kept coming, not saying a word. I put my hands on his chest, and attempted to push. I weighed all of 135 at the time, and my feet simply slid backwards on the hardwood floor as D kept advancing. I realized I was either going to have to let him go, or be trampled, so I stepped to the side.
D quickly walked into E’s bathroom and turned left. He tried, with his left hand, to brace himself against where the sink should have been, but found air, and instead bent over farther than he apparently wanted to. Before he could do anything to right himself, however, he puked, all over the back of the sink. The part of the sink that’s usually against the wall. The part with all the puke-catching ceramic structural vanes and whatnot. Lots of nooks and crannies to hold “pre-owned” alcohol and food.
That’s definitely the strangest place I’ve ever seen anyone vomit: on a part of a bathroom fixture which is normally never seen at all (and which has to be a real pain to clean).
The next morning, E tried to fix the sink, and wound up breaking one of the pipes. He then discovered, with much cursing, that D had also vomited into the drawer in E’s bedroom where E kept his socks and underwear, and also into one of E’s snake-skin boots. We also discovered that the liquor cabinet was empty, which is what got E into real trouble when his parents got home.
