One of the wisest pieces of advice I ignored was just four words. A friend of mine brought chewing tobacco to school one day in my freshman year. His friend chewed the stuff from a little tine can. This stuff was wrapped in plastic and smelled like rancid raisins.
We spent a lot of the day taking little plugs and chewing. There was a slight buzz and lightheadedness from it. Maybe that is what made us less careful when we started swallowing some. Finally my friend gave me the rest saying he didn’t feel well. I nibbled, chewed and swallowed by now.
By the last class period of the day I felt nauseous. My friend left the classroom and when he returned he came up to me and said: ‘David…’
Then came four words: ‘Throw that stuff away.’ Then he told me that he had barfed in the shrubbery outside the classroom. I didn’t throw it away I kept eating it. Then near the end of a long hot school bus ride home I puked all over the floor. It smelled like pigs in a blanket with rancid raisins. Barfing made me fell no better. My heart was still racing when I got home, ignored everyone and went to bed.
I feel horrible for the bus driver who had to clean that up. Today I clean up all kinds of biological messes working in church facilities. I’ve never seen anything quite that gross. And I cannot stand the smell of chewing tobacco. Some things are learned the hard way. But still learned.
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