I’m shocked to find I missed something so very important in my last post
I don’t DO vomit.
After forgetting to mention that little fact, I spent a week at work where everyone seemed to want to puke on me. Most of the time, they aim for the pants, which is slightly but not hugely gross, however:
I have had someone barf on my uniform, which in itself isn’t all that bad, however, picking carrot chunks out of your pockets, off your pens and whatever else just happens to be in there is more than a little gag worthy. If you must show me what you had for lunch, please aim for the floor.
And when I say floor, I mean the floor. It is equally unacceptable for you to empty your stomach contents into my shoes. Sure, my feet are in there but they just so happen to have a nice open top letting your semi digested sandwich run into them so it sits comfortably around my innocent toes. Aim to the side of you, it’s a much nicer way to barf, anyway…
But when you’re aiming to the side of you, make sure that I’m not standing there. I don’t want your half chewed McDonalds breakfast burger washed down (and back up again) with a diet coke running down into my bra. Attempting to feed my breasts won’t make them any bigger, they’re just not hungry.
Normal posting will resume as soon as I stop coming home from work needing to scrub various patients gastric juices off myself and my shoes.
Ha ha ha! You’re in the wrong job miss!
It reminds me of a day when I was sailing last summer. I followed this guy called Rich down into the galley, and due to the incredible heat (that seemed to be eminating from it somewhere), the smell of rotting vegetables from a blocked sink, and a serious swell (force 8 wind too), I barfed all down his neck. “The one time you pissed me off all on this leg of the trip Iain was when you puked on me, however it was kinda pleasurable too, like a warm bath”.
Once again, consider a different line of work.