The Dreadful Specter of Food Poisoning At the Senior Center

OVER AT THE LOCAL SENIOR CENTER, never a dull moment. So, I'm standing second in line at the lunch window, wedged in between an eighty eight year olf firebrand with a cane he is is not afraid to us, and a seventy eight year old eigth grade educated hillbilly who is among my best friends. I get my tray loaded with turkey pot pie, green beans, and a sliver of angel food cake with strawberry jam on top, sit down, and begin to chow. Meat don't taste quite right, but I never mind. I'm too hungry to care. My hillbilly buddy next to me remarks that it tastes like a pile of dead crickets, or something of that nature. I know ell enough not to ask him just exactly how he knows. Suddenly, another octogenarian nearby remarks that the meat "don't taste too damn good." Moments later a church lady chimes in "this aint fit to eat." I wouldn't go that far, but I too can tell that something is mighty amiss. but by this time I'm done, my plate empty, my stomach full, including what microorganisms I shudder to consider. But its too late now. Everyone except my cane toting friend, the hillbilly, and me takes their lunch to the trash, and dumps it in. The director announces that for those who are able to return tomorrow, we needn't pay for our lunch. and that she will investigate, and promptly gets on her cell phone, and begins exhorting, imploring, and arguing with somebody. I hear her utter the words "sue", and "cooked properly", and "responsibility". I ask both my friends how they feel, and they say just fine, for now. That doesn't comfort me, somehow. Panic stricken, images of my sister standing next to my hospital bed, or standing next to my casket with tears rolling down her cheeks flood into my overwrought mind. I make the two block walk home, trying to decide whether i feel faint or dizzy, and whether to induce vomiting. If the food is good, I don't want to wast it, if it isn't, I don't want to try to drive to the emergency room in excruciating pain. Home, I quickly feed the cats, thinking maybe for the last time.then I lie down, turn on a gospel music station, and begin to pray fervently, to a God I don't believe in, as if I were in a fox hole, which , for all intents and purposes, I m. the minutes tick by, and I keep right on praying. At the five hour mark, I begin to think that if its going to happen, it probably would have by now, trying to remember how long it takes food to digest. the figure eight to twenty four hours comes to mind. to relive the tension, I decide to write about my ordeal, and post it on the internet. then, I lay down, and drift to sleep, hoping not for the final time........THANKS FOR READING, AND PRAYING FOR ME!