October 2004 - Marietta, Georgia - 7:13 PM
I had the week of Columbus Day off for vacation. The plan was to go spend the week with my girlfriend Tweety. She lived in the middle of nowhere, a place I liked to call Hanganiggaville, TN. Every thing was going according to plan. I had picked up the rental car, packed a week's worth of clothes, and had nothing left to do but procrastinate awhile. See, I like driving at night when nobody else is on the road. I probably could have left then, but I thought it would be better if I waited until around midnight. That would suit my predilection for nighttime maneuvers and give her enough time to get off work and get settled. If I left at midnight, I would get there at 3AM. That would be perfect.
I don't know what came over me, but I decided that instead of stopping off and getting some fast food, I decided I would cook a little something. I had recently been on this kick of making these breaded chicken breasts that tasted kinda like some Chik-Fil-A, only better in my opinion. I can't cook much, but that was one of my specialities. I went to Kroger, which was about 5 minutes from my apartment to get the ingredients: lemon pepper seasoning- check. Flour-check, eggs - check. I already had the breadcrumbs at home. All I needed were some chicken breasts. I walked to the meat section and for some reason, they didn't have any chicken breasts. This is very important, because that was all I really knew how to cook at the time. My culinary skills consisted of about 10 different ways to cook chicken breasts: breaded chicken, the Foreman grill, Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo pasta, Sauteed in olive oil, baked with lemons, marinated etc... All of my meals depended on chicken breasts. Since they didn't have any I had a choice to make. I could either go to another store, or try something new. I decided to get a pack of chicken thighs. I like dark meat on everything else, so why not chicken?
I got home and laid everything out just like my grandma taught me. A plate of flour, a bowl of eggs, and then the breadcrumbs. I had the chicken thighs on a makeshift cutting board and heated up a little vegetable oil in a pan. Oh yeah, I was ready!!! I went to put the breadcrumbs on a plate and discovered that it was damn near empty. Oops! I looked around and saw that I already had a big bowl full of breadcrumbs and flour that I had used the previous week. I opened the container and smelled it. It still smelled good. I might as well use this. No sense in letting it go to waste. I'll pause here for you all to laugh at me. I'm sure you can tell where this story is going.
You finished laughing? If not, go on and hold it in because there is plenty more to come... I cooked up the first batch of chicken thighs. They were golden brown and delicious. I swear they looked like they could come straight from Chik-Fil-A. As I am want to do, I snacked a little as I put the second batch of thighs in the oil. I went into the living room and sat down and watched a little TV as the chicken cooked over medium heat. All of a sudden, I started feeling a little funny. At the time, I NEVER got sick. I had a cast iron stomach, and my immune system was the stuff of legends. I swear I would only get sick once every 4 years... I used to call it the Bush virus. Whenever Bush would run for office, I would get sick. Anyway, mucho digression, I know. So, I'm sitting there like what the hell is wrong with me. I tried to stand up, but I fell down to the floor. My legs literally were not working. Meanwhile, the chicken is cooking in the kitchen and I didn't want it to burn so I did the only thing that my body would allow me to do. I crawled into the kitchen and somehow managed to turn the burners off. The smoke alarm is going off, and I'm *thisclose* to blacking out.
I've fallen and I can't get up... Okay, I'll pause again for laughter... You finished? Okay, lets move on. I can't move anymore, so there I am laying on the kitchen floor. I have no idea what is wrong with me. My mind wanders to what I learned in CPR class. My left arm isn't numb, so it isn't a heart attack. I don't think my speech is slurred, so its not a stroke. I thought of everything that could be wrong with me besides the obvious. That's when the nausea came. I wont go into explicit detail, but lets just say, I remember hearing that Jimi Hendrix died from choking on his own vomit, so that was my biggest fear at the time. If only I could move. I managed to pull myself to the bathroom with my arms in time to avoid that inauspicious fate. But then I started getting another similar urge, only from the other end. Man, what the hell was happening to me? I started praying and bargaining with Jesus at that very moment.
I figured, take a shower. That's always my "go-to" when I feel sick. Plus, you know.. I had all that other stuff going on. I needed to get fresh and clean again. I laid in the shower and let the water beat me in the head until it got cold. I was feeling just a little bit better and I could walk then. I went back to living room and laid down on the couch. Maybe it's over. I called Tweety at work and told her what was going on. Of course she was like "take care of yourself, just come when you feel better." Cool, I'll be fine after I rest for awhile. At least that's what I thought.
I looked up at the clock on the VCR. It said 10:56. What happened to the last 3 hours? I wasn't quite sure, but I did know that I felt like crap. I again tried to stand up, but my knees buckled and I kneeled down in a precarious position, afraid to try to stand, but also afraid that if I laid back down, I would never get up. So, I teetered on one knee, fighting off my urge to expel whatever I had left in my system. The phone rang but it was soooooo far away. Not really, it was on the other end of the couch, but I couldn't get it. The ringtone was Jagged Edge's "Gotta Be." That was Tweety's ring. I figured I'd call her back as soon as I could move again. I finally decided that down was better than up, so I laid on the carpet and tried to think of anything I could to stay conscious.
" Things Done Changed, Gimme the Loot, Machine Gun Funk..." I was trying to remember the order of Biggie's Ready to Die album.
"un, deux, trois, quatre..." I tried to remember the French that I learned in high school
"Mr Silverman, Mrs Polivy, Mrs Beirman..." I tried to remember my elementary school teachers names.
It just was no use. My brain stopped working. I didn't know if it was sleep or unconsciousness, but I was not awake. I came to at 2:00AM to 7 missed calls from Tweety. I finally called her back and told her what was up. I didn't really get the sympathy I needed at the time.
"Duh, dummy. You gave yourself food poisoning."
"Wha- how? I knew I shouldn't have used them chicken thighs. I should have stuck with what I know."
"Uh, you don't think that maybe it's cause you reused those breadcrumbs?"
"nah, I smelled them. They were still good."
"Rashan, you can't smell Salmonella..."
Then she laughed at me. I don't mean a polite chuckle, but a big gut busting, knee slapping laugh. I don't blame her, I would have laughed too if it wouldn't have caused my intestines to curl up in a tight ball. I gave myself Salmonella. The worst part about it is that it took me that long to realize what the hell happened. Pretty stupid of me, I know. I was knocked on my ass for 2 days before I actually felt strong enough to drive to Hanganiggaville. My week trip was reduced to 4 days, but it was still all good. Tweety never did let me live down the Breaded Chicken Incident. To this day, she still gets a good laugh over how I poisoned myself. For the record, since that time, I have not made myself sick again, but then again, I've put the breaded chicken recipe back in the vaults. I'm not taking any chances. LOL
