Such are the subject lines of my life. Sent to Last Days, enjoy.
Last week, on a balmy evening after a record-breaking 93-degree day, I took a friend to dinner at one of my favorite summertime Hill haunts—a little outdoor cafe. While we sipped our chilled adult beverages and munched on cool appetizers, an older man seated at the table directly behind me (elbow-bumpingly close) made an atrocious noise and proceeded to throw up some of his food, to his left, over the patio railing, on the deck and onto the sidewalk.
I and everyone else seated outside froze. Conversation stopped. I looked over my shoulder, thinking perhaps the poor thing nearly choked to death (I can tell you from having a family member nearly choke to death, that vomiting afterward is not unusual), but he appeared fine. I moved my chair further from him and my friend and I continued eating. After a very few moments we were again assaulted by the man's horrifying display of loud throat-clearing followed by spitting/vomiting food onto the patio/rail/sidewalk! At this point I announced I was moving, grabbed my beverage and appetizer, and bolted across the small patio to a vacant table. Meanwhile, the frightening old goat continued to assault the other patrons with this behavior, sometimes pausing to rinse his mouth with water and spit it at the street as well. I do not know what horrible affliction he suffers from, but it should not be inflicted on innocent diners.
I am equally appalled that the wait staff said nothing and did not either ask him to take the rest of his dinner to go or compensate other patrons. Perhaps they were too stunned by this disgusting behavior to react, but it went on through his entire meal. I have never seen anything so revolting.