Dear Diary,
A chip attacked me yesterday.
Yes, a potato chip.
Yes, yes, I'll explain. Just let me start at the beginning.
I have a new job. Same company, same department, different team. Same salary, same title, a LOT more to learn.
I have a project to run. That's nothing new to me, but delivering a physical IT project in this company is not something I have done there before, and it's a big deal to them. "You don't get it till you've done it" is a mantra here, so I have to do it, and I have to do it well.
I have a new boss to impress. Well, not impress, as such. I've done that already, or he wouldn't have hired me. What I have to do is earn credibility with him and the team. And this team makes you earn it. Holy shit, I can't stress that enough. I get no quarter with these people.
So I'm holding a meeting.
A meeting for my project, with about half of my team, and a vendor who has flown up from California to see us. Lunch is arranged and it's one of those make-your-own-sandwich deals. I'm nervous so I slip into my old psychological trap: eat.
I make a big sandwich and I take chips. They are those horrible kettle chip things. They are oily and not salty enough and have no flavor and yet I take about twenty of them.
My little voice says "Don't have the chips!" It says it loud and clear, just like Magnum's little voice. But I tell myself it's close to Christmas and I would like something crunchy with my sandwich and who cares about the calories and everyone else took chips and...
Because I went to the bathroom and talked to a colleague, by the time I get back into the meeting, my colleagues have mostly finished their sandwiches and are talking business with the vendors again. I am sitting right next to my boss and he's asking the vendor questions and I am trying to chew these nasty, noisy chips.
So I am chewing slowly, and I am not chewing enough.
About two bites before the end of my sandwich, I feel that I have food stuck in my throat, on the right side under my ear. But it's one of those sensations where you aren't choking, it's just that something hasn't moved quite right and the natural slime in your system is going to get it back on track in a minute, and so you just keep chewing.
But it doesn't move.
And then it starts to hurt.
And I have to leave very quickly and head for the bathroom.
My eyes and nose are streaming. My body is trying to clear the obstruction from my throat with mucus. But it's not in my throat.
I start heaving. My body is trying to clear the obstruction from my esophagus. But it's not in my esophagus.
So I am heaving and gargling and blowing my nose and wiping my eyes and drinking water from the bathroom taps and trying my best to move whatever the fuck this thing is.
And I'm spitting up blood.
Eventually a projectile clump of food hits the bathroom basin, but it feels like I have half the obstruction still in there.
And it fucking hurts. The pain is directly below my right ear, on the right side of my throat.
I call Fluffy Bear and ask him to see if we can get an appointment with the doctor later that afternoon. I tell him what is going on and he says we have to go to ER. Surely, I think to myself, it isn't bad enough for THAT. And ER is vile and they make you wait and then they charge you a frickin' fortune and we can't afford that.
It hurts, but it's tolerable.
I can breathe.
It's my meeting.
I tell Fluffy Bear I'm OK and I head back into the conference room.
I grab the water jug and try to look inconspicuous as I drink three glasses of water in a row. I try to concentrate on what people are saying.
Then I have a question and I hear my own voice. I sounds like George Burns with laryngitis, gargling with salt water, asking for a cigar.
OK, time to go to ER.
I explain what's going on, gather up my stuff, and start to leave. I exit a room where 8 people are staring at me with stricken looks.
I try a joke about emulating George Bush.
Nobody laughs.
Bizarrely, we got seen at the hospital right away. I was still signing the we-can-bankrupt-you-for-the-bill form when the nurse ushered me into the pre-screen area.
A disgusting Maalox-Lidocaine cocktail and an X-ray later, the conclusion was that I have scratched the area behind the tonsil cavity, that injuries in that area feel very acute, but that they heal quickly on their own.
The doctor took my question about alcohol without even blinking and, presumably thinking I could do with a stiff drink, reassured me that I can imbibe both painkillers and a cocktail.
Drama over.
And now we wait for the bill, watch Fluffy Bear enjoy the fact that I can't speak, and look forward to my team taking the living piss out of me when I get to the office on Monday.