Dear Lady in the Bathroom at Chez Pannise:
Yes I was vomiting. And you were so nice, let me explain.
I had been visiting my best friend in Humboldt all week and drove back to the city that day. Over the course of four days, we drank a large bottle of casadores tequila, a half-gallon of stoli vodka, 4 bottles of wine, and shotgunned a twelve pack of Olympia beer (its the water). And that was just at her house. We "breakfasted" each day in a bar. She was having relationship troubles. I came up to help her drink her way into complete oblivion, an activity which we have been enjoying together for almost 15 years.
Anyway, two of my girlfriends were taking me out to dinner at Chez Pannise for my graduation from college. I left my friends house in Blue Lake at about noon, and stopped at McDonalds in Eureka to "use" the bathroom--ie puke my guts out. I never feel bad about barfing in evil McDonalds bathrooms--but Chez Pannise--oops.
Anyway, I really don't remember much about the next hour or so, I think I was trying to get some miles between me and my next throw-up spot. I pulled over at the Honeydew exit and barfed in a redwood grove. Then next to the river. I got about 50 more miles before I pulled over again, this time to barf on a little dirt road. Needless to say, it took me seven hours to get back to San Francisco. By the time I got to my house I was pale and shakey. My friends had made the reservation a month in advance and there was no backing out. So I took a shower, put on a Betsey Johnson dress and red high heels. I didn't look like a girl who drinks recklessly and then vomits in restrooms at four-star restaurants, I know. But I am EXACTLY that type of girl.
Upon arrival at Chez Pannise, I tried really hard to not be sick. I think the squid salad may have been what put me over the edge. Still attempting not to barf at Chez Pannise I walked across the street and bought Alka Seltzer. I downed a glass of it in the restaurant.
I finally came to grips with the fact that I WAS GOING TO PUKE--at Chez Pannise. I went up to the bathroom which was blissfully empty. I tried to do it quickly and quietly, but there was a lot going on. You came in--I heard you. I'm sure you heard me. I figured you would think I was some kind of bulimic. I'm not. When I came out my eyes were red and watery and I was wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. You said, "I don't want to be rude, but are you okay? I noticed you weren't really eating, and I saw you drink the alka-seltzer."
I said, "I'm okay now." But my voice was kind of croaky from all the vomiting. Then I rushed out of the bathroom.
Then I sat down and ate some lamb.
I felt much better.
I just wanted you to know I'm not bulimic; and thanks for being so nice.