It started of as a regular night. Two games, two rinks, one night. I play my first game, filling in for a friend at a local A league. I play well but lose. No time to dwell because I have to undress, pack up and head ½ mile to the next rink. This is a pick up game, very fun and exciting. Every game has been within one goal this year. Nice night so far, or so I thought.
Driving home, about 11:50, I come upon 4 corners. It’s a local intersection of many roads with my favorite place, Taco Bell. I know they are closing but shoot for it any ways. I make it into the drive thru and yell “T3, soft with a Pepsi, don’t even have to look at the menu. For those of you who are not familiar T3 is 3 taco supremes (soft for me) and a Pepsi.
I pull out onto the street and grab the first taco and begin to inhale it. This taco, like a young alter boy in the rectory alone, never had a chance. “Did I even unwrap it” I ask myself. No matter, a swig of Pepsi and I am onto the second. This one is going down faster than a freshman at a frat party. Then it happened.
A rouge tomato decides he is not going to go the way all the other food wants to. Like Jacques Cousteau, he wants to explore the unknown regions of my insides. (Cough) “Come on” I yell at the tomato, holding the last bite of taco numero dos in my hand, Pepsi in the other and my knee on the steering wheel.
It will not budge. I try and take a breath but nothing. I frantically, still trying to drive with my knee, try and yell out “Heimlick Maneuver” but realize that I am alone. I struggle for breath. “Is this it?” I think to myself. “Is this how I am going to go?”.
But wait, air, the wonderful, fantastic thing that is air slowly fills my lungs. The tomato works lose and is chewed to bits in anger. I hammer my Pepsi and then proceed to launch the third taco down my gullet. I gnaw at it like a beaver to a tree in the rainy season. Life , sweet, livable life is running through my veins.
Done. It’s over. I survived the taco fiasco of 2006 and hopefully learned a life lesson.