There are a lot of things that I experienced while on a trip in Atlantic City, New Jersey last year. I had a beautiful ocean view room, enjoyed some time on the beach, good conversation with my Aunt, and finally conquered a long-held fear that the book “Jurassic Park” was too scary for me to read. 

I have a very active imagination, and while in the midst of my eyes devouring a description of a particularly gory scene, I may or may not have entertained a split second conviction that a dinosaur was outside my twelve story hotel window. It wasn’t, but I also may or may not have slept with the light on. I didn’t, but the television may or may not have stayed on while I slept…

It did.

Invisible dinosaur notwithstanding, that was not my most exciting experience or the one I’ll remember the most. The thing I will remember, and without prompting, what the other 100 people I traveled with will recall, was the plane ride home.

As in the case of most disasters, the calm before the storm was misleading. Like the tide rushing back to hug the shore, the cause of the quiet snickering in the rear of the plane bubbled forward. I didn’t realize what all the tittering was about until the wave crashed over the 5th row, where my Aunt and I were seated.

Someone, and that person will be blessedly, and forever unknown, ate something that disagreed with them.

Wait–that feels too polite. They ate something that died right before it was ingested and then that something fought back inside their intestines and escaped through their nether regions as steam heat.
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