First Thoughts: Hohmigawd, I'm gonna die.
All right, well, to start off I just want to make an official disclaimer: I am not starving in the strictest of terms, thanks to mein Vater and his generosity by sending me boxes of non-perishable food items, as well as my extended family helping to feed me. This is merely my take on living like a college student, while not actually being a college student.
I've come to find that the similarities are rather uncanny; I can't afford anything, "good times" consist of drinking large amounts of alcohol, and top ramen has become the staple of my diet.
The only real difference between myself and a college student is that I don't have to slave over homework, for hours on end, hoping my refined talents at bullshitting will get me the grade I so desperately need.
---
Looking back, I was extremely blessed as a child. I never wanted for anything. I always had a warm meal at dinner, clothes for every season, and generous parents who could afford to splurge on my whims, like Beanie Babies and Pokémon cards.
Even after getting my first job, I was allowed to do what I wanted with my paycheck. New pair of shoes? Ja, bitte. DVDs and PlayStation 2 games? Don't mind if I do.
Do you see where I'm getting at? I am a frivolous creature. I want what I want, when I want it.
I don't like to wait, and save, and scrimp, and practice that virtue called "patience". And budgeting certainly isn't something that a shopaholic, feel-good-spender like myself tends to think about.
Meine Mutter had tried to break me of my poor spending habits. She had repeated herself constantly, over and over again, sounding like a broken record. "Save your money. Sit down and make a budget. Put it away in savings where you can't touch it."
I was sixteen, eighteen, twenty. I knew better. I could make it on my own, if I had to, but this was my time. I could, and would, spend it on whatever tickled my fancy. I didn't think about things like groceries, buying stamps, or a washer and dryer on-site, because these things had always been made available to me, free of charge.
This is why one of the largest adjustments after my 1,399.6 mile move to Chicago, other than paying a ridiculous sum of rent, was coming to terms with how expensive food actually is. I go to the store expecting to spend no more that forty dollars, and always come out having spent eighty.
Adapting to my new environment and self-imposed situation, has caused me to become rather animalistic. Like a squirrel saving up for winter, I store food away, hiding it here and there, to keep myself from eating it without reserve. And a strict regiment has been implemented: you shall not make more than you can eat in one sitting. Waste is not an option.
One can of soup. One packet of ramen. One meal a day, basically.
Now, if you're like me, you've read something, somewhere, what it's like to starve. Perhaps a work of fiction, maybe an article on wikipedia, but whatever it was we all seem to get the gist of what happens to you physically. Your stomach shrinks, you become lethargic, cardboard starts to sound appetizing.
Now perhaps because I associate starving with looking like a bone -- and that certainly isn't the case with moi -- I never thought that these things were happening to me, despite my reduced food intake.
I still don't, in some aspects, as my case certainly isn't drastic.
However, whatever I may think, and what is actually happening, are two different things. My stomach has shrunk, and I have lost a small amount of weight, due to the fact that I don't tend to gorge myself like I used to.
Because of all this -- the rambling, the super long backstory to help you understand -- I have to believe that this is the reason I experienced a particularly horrifying moment today. The entire reason I sat down to write on my blog. And here it is:
I threw up in public.
The envelope meine Mutter had sent me, along with a box full of coats and sweaters, told me to buy myself some Thanksgiving turkey on her, and to take care of myself. Hugs and kisses.
Pulling open the folded flap, I immediately smiled, as Andrew Jackson and Abraham Lincoln stared up at me. Twenty-five dollars to spend at my discretion.
Turkey Day had come and gone, and to be honest, the traditional fare didn't much interest me. At least not as much as it had when I was sitting in Bufflo Wild Wings, drinking Midori Sours on the day of the actual holiday.
If I was going to spend the money meine Mutter had sent me, I was going to splurge. And sushi immediately came to mind.
Packing the envelope into my coat pocket, I pulled myself together enough to trudge across the street to the tiny Asian restaurant on the corner. A giant inflatable santa somewhat blocking the entrance, and making me snort, due to its unfortunate resemblance to a phallus. Oh, Christmas.
The place was empty, except for a few businessmen out grabbing their own lunch, and I settled into the seat near a large open window.
My waitress came by to take my drink order, and immediately suggested tea, after hearing my croaky, cough-shaken voice. Agreeing that that would be best, she shuffled off before returning with my raspberry jasmine infused water.
"We having special today." She said, smiling. "Three sushi roll for price of two, with miso soup."
I must have gaped at her, because she pointed to it on the the pink slip of paper tucked into my menu. Bless the Heavens! Soup and sushi. A whole meal for ten dollars. Look how awesome and thrifty one could be at lunch time.
Ordering the California roll, tuna with avocado, and unagi with cucumber, I handed back the menu and thanked her, as another girl placed a small bowl of miso soup in front of me.
I sipped gingerly, trying not to slurp it down, as I wanted to do.
Grabbing a travel memoir from my bag, I sat and had a hoity-toity moment to myself.
I was such an urbanite. Fu fu fu.
I was such an urbanite. Fu fu fu.
The tea. The location. The book.
When the sushi came out, my mouth instantly began to salivate. Three rolls, each perfectly arranged sat around the circular plate, just waiting to be savoured.
Concocting the perfect blend of soy sauce and wasabi -- my taste buds tingling with anticipation at the salty/spicy mix -- I took my first bite. The crab and avocado of the California roll softening on my tongue instantly. Simple, but delicious.
My chopsticks guided another piece to my mouth. And then another.
It wasn't until I was halfway through my second roll (unagi and cucumber) that I knew I was in trouble. My stomach felt as though it was weighted with lead, and the time it took for me to chew my food was becoming longer and longer. The unagi, my favorite, was sickeningly sweet.
The waitress came to ask if I wanted more tea, and my hand immediately darted out to grab the cup. "Is it free?" I asked, previous experiences with special drinks driving the suspicious question.
"Yes. It's free." She responded, looking at me with a look saying, "Well, duh."
I wouldn't have been surprised if she had labeled me as a cheapskate, right then and there.
Letting her take my glass to refill it, I continued to eat. The urge to cough and let the food come up getting stronger and stronger. Waste is not an option. Waste is not an option. You're paying ten dollars for this, you cannot afford to leave it.
I chewed, and chewed, and chewed. The rice, eel, and cucumber rolling around in my mouth for what seemed like an eternity. The bite refusing to get smaller. Oh, mein Gott. Drink some water! Drink some water!
That's when my stomach, having eaten its fill for three days straight while in Utah, could no longer afford to stretch any bigger and caused me to throw up, right then and there, in my hand.
. . .
I suppose, on the bright side, it could have been a lot worse. I mean, it could have been all over my plate, on my book, or in my lap, all of which would have been profoundly more embarrassing. But when three older gentlemen are staring at you, looking absolutely disgusted, you feel about as small and as undesirable as the kid who farted on the back of the bus.
My first initial reaction was to crawl under a rock somewhere and die.
However, gathering up whatever shred of dignity I had left -- the sticky vomit running down my arm, into my sweater -- I stood and made a beeline for the bathroom instead. How long I was in there for, washing myself off, I can only guess. Two minutes? Five minutes? But when I returned to my seat, the businessmen were gone.
Perhaps it was for the best, as facing them would just be awkward, but it added another layer of shame to the already embarrassing situation.
Asking for my check, and pulling the bills from my wallet, I could only hope my waitress didn't see what had happened. If she had, or if the men at the other table said anything, she didn't let on. Gott sei Dank.
Fumbling with my bag for a moment, getting everything situated as I prepared to take my leave, I glanced over at the food, before resinging to leave it -- the voice in my head screaming at me to box it up.
Sometimes, I decided, it's better to just walk away. Penny-pinching be damned.
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