Ryan has had his share of bumps this summer. Usually if we have an unhappy bride, we may hear about it on the review a couple weeks later. Ryan however got to hear it straight from bridezilla’s mouth – only five minutes in to the job. Her exact words: “I hate you.” Kinda tough to bounce back from that one. All Ryan could do is keep the dance going and give the bride a chance to cool down. A little while later she did in fact apologize. “I’m sorry.” she said, “I was just very upset that you ruined the night.” The reason the night had been “ruined” was that Ryan had played 3 seconds of the wrong song for the bridal dance. Nevermind that he been handed a CD with no label and vague instructions on what song they wanted.
That was a cakewalk though compared to his job the following week. That night I was also working and sent him a text message. I thought he would be interested to know my groomsmen were wearing camouflage vests (classy – but what do expect when the reception is being held at a bowling alley?) He wrote back “That’s nothing compared to my night.” He told me what happened. I responded: “What? For real??”
Earlier that day, he woke up sweating. He quickly became aware of an urgent need to visit the bathroom. There he stayed for the rest of the miserable morning, emptying the contents of his body out both ends. He finally managed to get things under control and get in a nap. When he got up he felt a little better and headed out to his job.
Ironically at this point his stomach was rumbling, demanding he replace what he had worked so hard to remove that morning. Thinking he had recovered enough (5 hour viruses are pretty common right?) he took a trip through the buffet line. Mashed potatoes, carrots, green beans, chicken – he ate it all.
The dance was about to begin when his stomach did an about face. And a somersault. And a backflip. The bride asked him if he could get started. He told her he just to make a couple adjustments to the speakers first. This was sort of true if you actually cared what the acoustics were like in the bathroom. But first he had to make it to the bathroom.
He took off running in to the hallway. It was crammed with kids goofing off. He hurdled, juked, spun and dived to the men’s room door. He had one hand firmly planted on his mouth. Making it to the toilet was unrealistic, but maybe, just maybe, he could make it to the sink. He opened the door only to find a large man in his way. The man saw Ryan but failed to register what was going on. Instead of getting out of the way, he actually walked in to him. Ryan managed to turn his head a little, but still ended up puking all down the man’s leg and shoe.
I never did hear how the man reacted or if the bride ever found out. I do know that he did manage to finish the night, although several long slow songs were played accompanied by trips to the bathroom. Everything that didn’t come out his mouth was still going to find a way to escape.
Afterwords he called to tell me the story. I agreed that was the worst thing I’ve ever heard and suggested he go home and get to bed. He said he would just as soon as he finished eating his Taco Bell. He confidently believed eating the greasy food his stomach was used to would be the cure.
I could only hope his wife had no plans to use the bathroom when he got home.