Welcome to a new Category, Story Time. All posts in this category will contain stories from my past, or stories I have heard from friends or relatives.
This story takes place in a Hibachi like restaurant known as “Benihana”, about 7-8 years ago.
It was Valentine’s day, and my older sister was in 8th grade. She had a boyfriend, and we invited him to join our family for dinner at this restaurant. He accepted.
What my family and I were not aware of at the time was, I am deathly allergic to shrimp. That being said, naturally, I ordered a bunch of shrimp.
After enjoying watching the chef cook in front us, flipping knives and turning onions into volcanoes, we began to eat.
After awhile of laughing, talking, etc., I said to my father “I don’t feel so good”.
Now, apparently, when you’re in 8th grade and a little kid says he doesn’t “feel good”, you get a little freaked out. Or, that’s what looked like was going through my sister’s boyfriend’s head.
So I don’t feel good, my sister’s boyfriend is looking at me like I have leprosy, and all is not going so well at this point in the night.
I feel woozy and I know I am about to vomit, so I start heading towards the bathroom. But, I knew in my little head, I wasn’t going to make it all the way to the bathroom.
I start vomiting. I mean, I go into a vomiting fit. Before I started vomiting, though, me being the courteous person I am, moved over to the side so I wouldn’t vomit in the walkway. What I did not realize until too late was, I had moved over right in front of the doorway to, none other than, the kitchen. I mean, I puked dead center in front of the door, right where all the employees would be stepping.
I felt awful, but I could not stop vomiting. You just see employees looking at each other and trying to go around me.
As soon as I got a handle on my vomiting, I made my way, shamefully, over to the bathroom. I was continuing my trek.
As soon as I reached the bathroom, I felt fine. As soon as you reach where you want to go, you don’t need to go there anymore. So after waiting a few minutes, just to be safe, I made my way back over to in front of the kitchen to apologize.
My parents were already by the kitchen, being very apologetic. The workers were very nice, including the one who had to clean it up. I swear, though, that the cleaner gave me this look like they wanted to “accidentally” throw a few knives in my face while they prepared our food.
In conclusion to this story, I would like to state that I have not been to that restaurant since. No joke. I have never gone back there. It’s probably for the best, too. I prefer to have the least amount of trained knives-men after me as possible. I know it happened a long, long time ago, but some people hold grudges.
Important Random Crap (I.R.C) 