I nearly died today.
No, legit. And it would have all been at the hands of what I thought was one of the most magnificent creations brought to McDonald's. Ain't that some sh-t?
I always imagined that my near-death experience would be something that would open my eyes to all the great things in life, and y'know. . .teach me that I should appreciate everyday. All it did was make me really suspect of abnormally large drinks. Here's how it happened:
I'm walking back to my room from work with J (the boyf) and his brothers, quickly, because it's humid as hell in New York and I'm not tryna' have my hair frizz up. . .
Jokingly, I grabbed something J was holding because I knew he'd put up a fight for it - it was food, fyi. We go back and forth for it and his brothers are laughing in the background because they know that nothing stands between him and his food. Not even me. One of them cracks a joke saying just that, and as I'm sipping on my sweet tea, I start my usual fit of inappropriate laughter.
Before I know it, I start coughing. This is fine - I always have coughing attacks when I talk too fast while eating or drinking. Suddenly, however, coughing turns to choking and while everyone around me is still laughing at the previous joke, I'm realizing, slowly but surely that my oxygen supply is clogged by the syrupy yet deadly goodness that is McDonald's sweet tea. I grip my iPhone tightly because if I survive this experience, the last thing I'll want to deal with is a shattered phone screen (for whatever reason, I'm also still securely holding the iced tea.). I'm trying not to panic but because I'm naturally dramatic I'm thinking three steps ahead of what's already happening. . . is this it? This happens all the time - why haven't I stopped coughing?!
J's the first to realize that something's not right - probably because by now my nose has started leaking, I'm sweating, and my face has gone from caramel to purple - and springs into action.
I must say, I'm proud.
He starts rather violently yet lovingly slapping my back. At this point, his actions have helped me realize that I am in fact, choking to death, and I make my second mistake. I lose all sense of logic. My hands start flailing (still holding the iPhone, of course), I start gasping for air, and I make signals that I've seen in movies which I thought meant "help"! When he realizes the slaps aren't working, J starts doing his own rendition of the Heimlich maneuver which is like the real Heimlich maneuver, only much more emotional and amateur when done when you're scared your girlfriend might die because she can't drink properly.
Since I'm my mother's child, this is all becoming entirely too much for me and my mind starts racing to how just earlier I was talking about how sucky it would be to die at 21, and how I've always wanted to visit a 7th wonder of the world. And why hadn't I opted for the large fries instead of the medium for lunch when life was so short?! While I'm sifting through what-if's in my head, at some point my choking calms down. As I'm catching my breath, I let a few chuckles escape because, let's be honest - I was happy I was alive and the whole thing was kinda funny. If it wasn't happening to me.
J on the other hand is furious, and I can understand why. He tells me that I really need to stop choking. I tell him I'll work on that.
What I learned from that experience is that:
A) My boyfriend really is my knight in shining armor (who knew he actually knew the Heimlich?) and,
B.) Thank goodness I wasn't choking alone. How awful would it have been if I was found, dead and alone in front of my place of work with hair frizzed beyond the point of recognition?
So that was my Friday. How was yours?