Unintentionally Disgusting...

So, I work as the mail boy in my office, and one of the perks is getting to eat food from all the departments. Especially around Christmas; there are always plenty of gift baskets being sent around.
As I’m dropping off the mail I notice a new platter of goodies laid out. Crackers and smoked salmon, jackpot! I grab a couple of crackers and a hunk of salmon and head off to my next stop.
As I’m about to pop it in my mouth, I stop to appreciate the æsthetics of my snack. The smoked salmon is a deep pinkinsh-brown, and glistens with a light sheen of oil. The crackers are golden and flaky, with granules of salt sprinkled on top. I prepare myself for salty, oily goodness…


What? These crackers… they’re not crackers at all! :smack: They’re cookies! They’re coverered in sugar, not salt! Ugh… Salmon and cookies is not delicious! I’m still trying to get the taste out of my mouth…

So, what kind of disgusting things have you all accidentally eaten?

Back in my High School Home Ec days, I got pretty proficient at making omeletttes, so I would be called upon on holidays to make them for lunch. I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and proceeded to make them. My Mom said they were “interesting,” which means they suck. No one could figure out why they tasted so strange until my Mom asked me which milk I had used. She had made some egg nog and poured it back into the empty milk carton…Bleah!

In 9th grade I had a habit of leaving unfinished drink cans in my locker after lunch. One day I sat a can of Hawaiian Punch on top of my locker, swapped out my books for the next class, and absentmindedly walked off with a can of Hawaiian punch from *inside *the locker. There’s no telling how old it was.

It actually didn’t taste bad at all, but it was very pulpy and after swallowing a few large hunks of fruit it occurred to me that there shouldn’t be any plant material in this at all. I don’t even know if the stuff has any real juice in it.

I poured a few dozen roaches onto the sidewalk from that can, and then some from my stomach.

I recall one summer day, while I was working for an amusement park, I left a partially finished bottle of Dr Pepper in my car. I got back in the car after dark after a full day of work. I proceeded to drive towards home. Stopped to fill up the car with gas. Got back into the car and had forgotten that the Dr Pepper had been in the ca rall day.

Hot Dr Pepper is really nasty.

Wheeljack’s story just made me gasp in horror. Eeeeeew.

One time I was on a date with a gorgeous girl, and we’re eating italian food. I’ve been eating my spaghetti for a while when I realize that it would be great with the parmesan cheese that’s been sitting on the table for the duration of the meal. So as I’m talking to her, I grab it and just sort of absentmindedly shake it all over my spaghetti, noticing that she’s giving me a sort of quizzical look but I don’t think much of it. I finish my sentence and take a big bite of the spaghetti, which I’ve covered in sugar. She burst out laughing and it was totally hilarious.

But gross.

Yeah, Wheeljack… I’d prolly just quit living if that happened to me.


Wheeljack, I’ve seen guys go into spasms of uncontrolled vomited after mistaking a spit can for the soda can they had been drinking from.
What happened to you is even worse, though.

I think that’s worse than what happened to me night before last. I was a little hungry, and a little thirsty. I reached into the fridge and grabbed a jar of apple sauce.
glurg, glurg, glurg

Me, thinking: Hmm, that’s a little chunky for applesauce.

look into jar, see mold

spit out remaining chunks from mouth into jar, throw jar away

Good thing I didn’t grab the milk to rinse it out, because it was chunky too.

No, I haven’t been home much lately, why do you ask?

I went on a house call to a very nice Indian family’s home to fix their PC. (I had my own business at that time) They had guests over, so I was cloistered in one of their bedrooms to fix the machine, which is cool by me; being in a room full of people I don’t know is particularly awkward. The wife stops in for a moment and asks if I would like a bit of tea. Not knowing Indian customs, but knowing that she was obviously big on hospitality, I accepted, not wanting to be rude. And in fact, I could have done with a bit of tea at that, as the repair was by no means a quick one.

She comes back several minutes later with a demitasse cup of very orange-looking tea. Not Chai – I would have smelled that wonderful Chai smell a mile away – just garden variety orange pekoe. But really orange. But okay – sure, whatever. It smelled like ordinary tea, the orange probably coming from the steamed milk. Iss cool. I take a sip.

BLEARGH!!! Blagh! Pthew! Pah! Guh! Ugh…

It was salty. I mean it was salty! Suck-the-moisture-right-out-of-your-head salty, like the cup was made with a full tablespoon of the stuff. I began to panic. I couldn’t drink that, no way in hell, but what the hell was I going to do with it? I couldn’t leave it as that would almost certainly cause offense. I couldn’t sneak it into the bathroom as the route would take me straight past my hosts and their guests in full view. (It was a small apartment) Damn! I had no options. I was going to have to … to … drink it. Okay, maybe if I let it cool off enough I could just sort of down it in one shot. Just the thought gave me the heaves – but what choice did I have?

As I let it cool, the wife came back into the room several minutes later, chuckling. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I put salt in the tea instead of sugar by mistake!”


She brought me a replacement cuppa which, although unusually rich, was much more tea-like.

A nice bowl of oatmeal covered in SALT. Ptewph!!!1!

Some kids at camp thought it hilarious fun to substitute salt for sugar in the sugar dispenser.

You’ve all totally outclassed me, but I once made eggs using olive oil to grease the frying pan. Blech.

My dad loves to tell the story of being in Spain in the early 60s and overeating/drinking late one night at some taverna, then coming down bleary and hungover the next morning for a late breakfast. “Huevos fritos,” he ordered. They came, he said, literally submerged in hot, thick, green olive oil. He bolted out the front door and hurled.

At a fancy brunch place I ordered an omelet that sounded so interesting I figured it had to be good: egg whites, crab meat, artichoke hearts, and roquefort cheese. I don’t know which chef concocted that thing, but I doubt they still have their job.


No way. Not even close. Swallowing even a drop of tobacco juice (I assume that’s what you’re talking about) is enough to make me blow chunks within minutes. A whole sip of it? Oh, man. That is way worse than a couple of roaches.

A few weeks ago, somebody smoked me out and then served me a bowl of lovingly prepared but totally inedible shrimp scampi swimming in olive oil. That was so cruel.

Ages ago, while on a choir trip, I was eating at a buffet and placed what I thought was whipped cream on some dessert. It turned out to be sour cream. I developed a sour cream antipathy that lasted me through several years and countless tragically missed pierogi opportunities.

Oh, just remembered another salty experience.

Had lunch at a Vietnamese Pho restaurant near where I worked at the time. One of my cow-orkers was Vietnamese so he was sort of my guide to their voluminous numbered menu system. I ordered one that had shrimp. Turns out the shrimp, while cooked, was A) not peeled, B) not deveined, and C) encrusted with salt.

As much as I love a good Pho joint, that was one thing I was never ordering again.

Heh… one more. I’ve mentioned this elsewhere, but I ordered from Taco Bell one time, some beef burritos and soft tacos, both supremes, for the wife and I. Upon noshing into one, we discovered, much to our horror, that the sour cream caulked generously on the wraps was, while white, not at all sour cream.

It was icing.


Ross: It tastes like feet!
Joey: I like it!
Ross: Are you kidding?
Joey: What’s not to like? Custard? Good. Jam? Good. Meat? Gooood.

I say we implement pukey ANSI art instead of a pukey smiley.

I made some salsa one summer after receiving a metric ton of tomatoes. The finished product seemed ok, but there was something a little off about the stuff. I took it to my dad’s and he took one bite and said, “This is the worst salsa I’ve ever tasted! What the hell did you put in this stuff???” Mind you, this is a man who will eat ANYTHING, including expired meats and dairy products.

It didn’t take too long to realize that I had put four bulbs of garlic in the batch rather than four CLOVES. :smack:

To this day I have trouble anything resembling salsa. And as a result of the garlic incident I also have an aversion to cilantro that was not previously there. Yeah, it took awhile to live that one down. haha!