Food disasters/horror stories

Chris B.

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="Mokey" data-cid="598143" data-time="1468920403">
<div>
Only time I've ever thrown up because of alcohol was night of uni graduation when I went on a bad bender and mixed drinks.
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Conversely, the night of my graduation was extremely quiet.
 
The day before was quite interesting though. I was working as a box stacker in an apple packhouse to raise money to take off to the UK and it was my last day of work. The season was almost ended, so (nothing to do with me) the many ladies who worked there agreed that rather than bringing our ordinary lunches we should all bring a plate for "Plate Wednesday".
 
Now, Mike and Gary* found the work extremely boring (can't understand why), and got into the habit of going round to Mike's place to smoke dope at lunchtime, to get themselves through the afternoon. But, on the announcement of Plate Wednesday, Mike really lit up. "I'm going to bring a dope cake" he announced to the stacking team. Yeah right! Only a fucking idiot would bring a dope cake to Plate Wednesday.
 
Well, the great day dawned, and the first unfortunate occurrence was that Billy, the bad bastard who was foreman of the stacking team was away making one of his regular court appearances - I think this one was to do with a restraining order his sister was taking out due to Billy trying to sell her in the pub to some Russian seamen. And Ed was sick. So our team of six clowns was reduced to four. And Mike was proudly displaying his dope cake. It looked like a banana cake to me and I said so.
 
"Nah, nah, mate - it's a dope cake".
 
"Fucking bullshit. Only a fucking idiot would bring a dope cake to Plate Wednesday".
 
But, we were assured as to its authenticity and then morning tea time arrived. "Time for slice of the cake", said Mike, and he proceeded to divide the fucking thing into four. In an extraordinarily rare piece of good judgement (especially at that time), I said, "Well, if it really is a dope cake, I know you guys are dope fiends, so I'd better only have half a slice." However, John - the fourth guy - who was about 18, even wetter behind the ears, and had probably never smoked a joint in his life, helped himself to one of the large quarters. And for the next half hour - I was sent to stack off the long conveyor belt - all was well.
 
Then...I bent down to pick up a box and my arms telescoped to three times their usual length. Woohooo, not so good. I've still got about six hours of work and I'm badly stoned.
 
Mike appears at my shoulder.
 
"Fuck mate, how are ya?"
 
"Not good, Mike - I'm fucking stoned".
 
"Yeah, I know. I think I might have made the cake a bit strong.... John's completely out of it...".
 
We both looked across to where John was holding an apple box in the middle of the floor and walking in small, aimless circles.
 
"....in fact, I think I'd better go and help him".
 
Five minutes later, Mike reappears.
 
"John's fucked", he informs me. "He's been spewing in the toilets. He's had to go home".
 
"What, on his motorbike?", I'm incredulous, paranoid and still showing common sense, but it's too late to do anything about that now. Our team is down to three.
 
[A small technical interlude - when the apple boxes exit the glue machine they come down a short conveyor belt and one person has the job of sorting them onto different conveyors depending on the variety of apples stamped on the box - then they get stacked by grade].
 
Five minutes later, Mike is back. He's looking slightly worried.
 
"Fuck mate, can you see?" he asks me. "We can't read the labels on the boxes".
 
"We better fucking hope so, or we're fucked", I say, not optimistically. They're not clear, but I can do it and it's nearly lunch time by now.
 
We have no part of Plate Wednesday. We sprint to Mike's house and drink as much strong coffee as we can in an hour. Mike and I are slightly better. Gary still can barely speak. The afternoon is a fucking shambles, but we get through it. Towards the end the boss comes out and says to me, "I don't know what's wrong with you guys today, the pallets are a mess, there's all sorts of wrong boxes on the wrong pallets".
 
"Well, we are pretty short-handed", I say lamely.
 
"I know, but even so".
 
"You'd better talk to them, then", I say, selling Mike and Gary down the road. "I've been doing the splitting all afternoon". This is incredibly stupid, because I doubt Gary can yet talk back.
 
That evening, I have to drive to Christchurch with my parents and I'm still digesting the cake. My father keeps pestering me to take a turn at driving and I keep weakly pleading exhaustion from my hard day at the packhouse.
 
I spend most of my graduation day in a state of paranoia. I can't find a newspaper to find out whether John died in a motorbike accident or succumbed to marijuana poisoning. Not, that I'm worried about him, but it's going to spoil my UK trip if I have to stay in Nelson for the court case. 
 
Happily and remarkably he survives to no doubt make great contributions to humanity.
 
* Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Hooroo

That is just brilliant. Had to shut the door to my office as I was laughing so much. Actually got a tear out of me when I read about the guy with the box doing circles.
 
When I was a student I worked at McD;s and during a break we all went out for a hooter (We were on a close). I was on the grill so I thought "What the hell" and got amongst. Bad move as not 20 mins later one of the girls flipped out and I was told to work front counter. The other dude on front counter was a dope pro from way back so he was handling the jandal and making fun of the situation and I could hear him taking the mickey out of the customers and of course I get the giggles and trying to serve. In the end, I had to leave a customer stranded while I bolted out the back to wet myself laughing.
 
It really was the most fun and exciting shift I ever did. I didn't repeat the episode but the others did every now and then.

Mokey

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="mariner4life" data-cid="598238" data-time="1468969735">
<div>
Having spent years working in hospo, a woman who has only thrown up once from alcohol, despite spending formative years in Hamilton would be a fucking rarity i reckon.
 
 
If we're going to expand this to booze related spew stories, it could get real ugly. I've done myself over a couple of times really fucking badly. 
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Um...I did not spend any of my formative years in Hamilton, just for the record.

mariner4life

ah, that explains much then. as you were

Mokey

That night taught me a valuable lesson about not mixing drinks. I don't think I could even look at wine for about a decade.
 
Nowadays I just stick to vodka and all is well.

JK

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="Chris B." data-cid="598264" data-time="1468976755">
<div> 
"Nah, nah, mate - it's a dope cake".
 
</div>
</blockquote>
 
 
Great story!
 
Actually reminded me of the time we had a couple of Mormons come a door knocking out our flat years back. One of the lads had the Lionel Muffins (that guy from Shortland Street) recipe book and had been working his way through it since receiving it for xmas. Anyway, he'd just whipped up a batch of fine muffins and these guys turned up, super pushy and wanted to come in. So we welcomed them in and offered up a cuppa and a muffin or two.
 
Anyway, they ended up playing playstation (Gran Tourismo) with us for a while before one of the guys fell sleep and started drooling all over the couch. Ushered them out as we had places to go but ended up driving past them down the street about 10mins later and the sleepy guy was now lying on the berm outside some house while the other guy was trying to put the chain back on his bike! We just cracked up.
 
<img src="https://www.artybees.co.nz/sites/default/files/imagecache/product_full/product_covers/53708_Hoffman-Vicki_Lionels-Muffins---Treats-from-Neon-Pacifica.jpg" alt="53708_Hoffman-Vicki_Lionels-Muffins---Tr">

MN5

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="Chris B." data-cid="598264" data-time="1468976755">
<div>
Conversely, the night of my graduation was extremely quiet.
 
The day before was quite interesting though. I was working as a box stacker in an apple packhouse to raise money to take off to the UK and it was my last day of work. The season was almost ended, so (nothing to do with me) the many ladies who worked there agreed that rather than bringing our ordinary lunches we should all bring a plate for "Plate Wednesday".
 
Now, Mike and Gary* found the work extremely boring (can't understand why), and got into the habit of going round to Mike's place to smoke dope at lunchtime, to get themselves through the afternoon. But, on the announcement of Plate Wednesday, Mike really lit up. "I'm going to bring a dope cake" he announced to the stacking team. Yeah right! Only a fucking idiot would bring a dope cake to Plate Wednesday.
 
Well, the great day dawned, and the first unfortunate occurrence was that Billy, the bad bastard who was foreman of the stacking team was away making one of his regular court appearances - I think this one was to do with a restraining order his sister was taking out due to Billy trying to sell her in the pub to some Russian seamen. And Ed was sick. So our team of six clowns was reduced to four. And Mike was proudly displaying his dope cake. It looked like a banana cake to me and I said so.
 
"Nah, nah, mate - it's a dope cake".
 
"Fucking bullshit. Only a fucking idiot would bring a dope cake to Plate Wednesday".
 
But, we were assured as to its authenticity and then morning tea time arrived. "Time for slice of the cake", said Mike, and he proceeded to divide the fucking thing into four. In an extraordinarily rare piece of good judgement (especially at that time), I said, "Well, if it really is a dope cake, I know you guys are dope fiends, so I'd better only have half a slice." However, John - the fourth guy - who was about 18, even wetter behind the ears, and had probably never smoked a joint in his life, helped himself to one of the large quarters. And for the next half hour - I was sent to stack off the long conveyor belt - all was well.
 
Then...I bent down to pick up a box and my arms telescoped to three times their usual length. Woohooo, not so good. I've still got about six hours of work and I'm badly stoned.
 
Mike appears at my shoulder.
 
"Fuck mate, how are ya?"
 
"Not good, Mike - I'm fucking stoned".
 
"Yeah, I know. I think I might have made the cake a bit strong.... John's completely out of it...".
 
We both looked across to where John was holding an apple box in the middle of the floor and walking in small, aimless circles.
 
"....in fact, I think I'd better go and help him".
 
Five minutes later, Mike reappears.
 
"John's fucked", he informs me. "He's been spewing in the toilets. He's had to go home".
 
"What, on his motorbike?", I'm incredulous, paranoid and still showing common sense, but it's too late to do anything about that now. Our team is down to three.
 
[A small technical interlude - when the apple boxes exit the glue machine they come down a short conveyor belt and one person has the job of sorting them onto different conveyors depending on the variety of apples stamped on the box - then they get stacked by grade].
 
Five minutes later, Mike is back. He's looking slightly worried.
 
"Fuck mate, can you see?" he asks me. "We can't read the labels on the boxes".
 
"We better fucking hope so, or we're fucked", I say, not optimistically. They're not clear, but I can do it and it's nearly lunch time by now.
 
We have no part of Plate Wednesday. We sprint to Mike's house and drink as much strong coffee as we can in an hour. Mike and I are slightly better. Gary still can barely speak. The afternoon is a fucking shambles, but we get through it. Towards the end the boss comes out and says to me, "I don't know what's wrong with you guys today, the pallets are a mess, there's all sorts of wrong boxes on the wrong pallets".
 
"Well, we are pretty short-handed", I say lamely.
 
"I know, but even so".
 
"You'd better talk to them, then", I say, selling Mike and Gary down the road. "I've been doing the splitting all afternoon". This is incredibly stupid, because I doubt Gary can yet talk back.
 
That evening, I have to drive to Christchurch with my parents and I'm still digesting the cake. My father keeps pestering me to take a turn at driving and I keep weakly pleading exhaustion from my hard day at the packhouse.
 
I spend most of my graduation day in a state of paranoia. I can't find a newspaper to find out whether John died in a motorbike accident or succumbed to marijuana poisoning. Not, that I'm worried about him, but it's going to spoil my UK trip if I have to stay in Nelson for the court case. 
 
Happily and remarkably he survives to no doubt make great contributions to humanity.
 
* Names have been changed to protect the guilty.
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Fuck me this thread just keeps getting better and better doesn't it ? This story may have beaten them all which is a hell of an effort cos there's been some top yarns here.
 
Talking about shitting and spewing really does beat sports talk......

MN5

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="JK" data-cid="598278" data-time="1468981945">
<div>
Great story!
 
Actually reminded me of the time we had a couple of Mormons come a door knocking out our flat years back. One of the lads had the Lionel Muffins (that guy from Shortland Street) recipe book and had been working his way through it since receiving it for xmas. Anyway, he'd just whipped up a batch of fine muffins and these guys turned up, super pushy and wanted to come in. So we welcomed them in and offered up a cuppa and a muffin or two.
 
Anyway, they ended up playing playstation (Gran Tourismo) with us for a while before one of the guys fell sleep and started drooling all over the couch. Ushered them out as we had places to go but ended up driving past them down the street about 10mins later and the sleepy guy was now lying on the berm outside some house while the other guy was trying to put the chain back on his bike! We just cracked up.
 
<img src="https://www.artybees.co.nz/sites/default/files/imagecache/product_full/product_covers/53708_Hoffman-Vicki_Lionels-Muffins---Treats-from-Neon-Pacifica.jpg" alt="53708_Hoffman-Vicki_Lionels-Muffins---Tr">
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Why do Lionels Muffins look like they're resting on a gigantic erection ?

dogmeat

The best weekend session I ever had was Carnival in Holland. The Catholic part of Holland in the south, where they party hard because in theory Lent is coming.
 
The whole town changes its name to Oeteldonk for 3 days and has a new mayor etc. Basically if you don't want to rage you leave town. Buses are free as are the morals.
 
I was 19 and had only been out of a very backward NZ for 3 months so Oeteldonk was a bit of an eye opener.
 
My gf of the time and I were staying at mates place near the centre of town. Celebrations are supposed to start Friday night and run till Sunday night, but as my mate and I finished our working week Thursday lunchtime - we started early and didn't go to bed until the early hours of Monday morning.
 
As you can imagine much of it is a blur especially after 35 years but poignant memories are:
 
<ul><li>leading an oompah band into a canal (literally - which is fucking cold in Feb). Somehow in the confusion I acquired a trombone which I kept for the rest of the weekend</li>
<li>watching the oeteldonk parade. Just like the Santa Parade with floats and bands etc only the floats are things like a gigantic naked buxom wench on her back giving head to an eight foot high frog - oeteldonk has something to do with frogs</li>
<li>taking a guy to A&E because he'd swallowed his tongue and was choking to death. Only he wasn't he was merely clutching his throat and making weird gaaah noises whilst we could all see his tongue. I tried to explain but couldn't for laughing. I wasn't sure if that was acid or mushies but I nearly wept.</li>
<li>Saturday lunchtime two friendly young ladies painted my face with the entire contents of their make-up kits in a very unstructured drug crazed way. Which I still had covering my face on Tuesday. I didn't change clothes all weekend - at the end of which I burned them.</li>
<li>Being chased over the roofs of town by the police for chucking a TV on their car and then pissing on them as they tried to climb up</li>
<li>Convincing my gf that she should "break in" a young (13 yr old) guy we met in a bar as it was the friendly thing to do and look how nice the Dutch are treating us. TBH he looked terrified and gf and I split up after this weekend</li>
<li>somehow getting involved in a bridal party which involved a stand-up quicky with the bride in the middle of the bar which was so crowded all the punters moved in waves to the serving area and back</li>
</ul>Made and lost loads of friends over the weekend as none of them could stay the course but didn't puke once. Did get the DT's for the only time in my life which was sort of fun as I wasn't paranoid but did contribute to gf leaving me as well
 
Never made it to Munich beer fest despite having numerous invites. Couldn't imagine how it could cap carnival in oeteldonk

Hooroo

I want to go now!! Do they still do this carnival?

NTA

Right - everyone shut up shop: dogmeat just won the internet.
 
 
 
 
<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="Hooroo" data-cid="598297" data-time="1468987773">
<div>
I want to go now!! Do they still do this carnival?
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Not after that Kiwi kid showed up 35 years ago...

mariner4life

this now beats the stripper thread for best ever. some of you are animals

NTA

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598296" data-time="1468987322">
<div>
<ul><li>somehow getting involved in a bridal party which involved a stand-up quicky with the bride in the middle of the bar which was so crowded all the punters moved in waves to the serving area and back</li>
</ul></div>
</blockquote>
 
"Getting involved" up to the balls is quite a feat. I tip my hat to you, sir!
 
<img src="http://i.imgur.com/5ajbeWB.gif" alt="5ajbeWB.gif">

MajorRage

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598296" data-time="1468987322">
<div>
<ul><li>somehow getting involved in a bridal party which involved a stand-up quicky with the bride in the middle of the bar which was so crowded all the punters moved in waves to the serving area and back</li>
</ul> 
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Like all good stories told by people, there is undoubtedly some bullshit in amongst the brilliance. I'm calling bullshit on the above.

barbarian

This thread is incredible, and just keeps getting better.
 
I lost it at this:
 
 
<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598296" data-time="1468987322">
<div>
<ul><li>leading an oompah band into a canal (literally - which is fucking cold in Feb). Somehow in the confusion I acquired a trombone which I kept for the rest of the weekend</li>
</ul></div>
</blockquote>
 
... and never recovered.

dogmeat

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="MajorRage" data-cid="598305" data-time="1468989615">
<div>
Like all good stories told by people, there is undoubtedly some bullshit in amongst the brilliance. I'm calling bullshit on the above.
</div>
</blockquote>
 
I understand totally why you would say that. It was even more surreal than I said because it was one of five bars side by side facing the main wall that had glass walls between them, but it did happen.
 
TBH it could have been a bridesmaid their wasn't a lot of conversation.
 
I really cannot convey the totality of how debauched the whole town was - yet how friendly (well apart from the knife fight).
 
So everyone is out to have a good time and is off their faces and throw into the mix a young reasonably good looking (at the time) foreigner who was acting crazy and whose face was like something painted by the town's namesake (Heironymous Bosch).
 
I can't explain it but it worked and maaaan am I glad it did. Although the actual act wasn't as memorable as the ocassion

Chris B.

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598296" data-time="1468987322">
<div>
I was 19 and had only been out of a very backward NZ for 3 months so Oeteldonk was a bit of an eye opener.
</div>
</blockquote>
 
Good to see you got over your initial shyness. You should have gone back a few years later to test the limits! :)

NTA

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598309" data-time="1468991685">
I really cannot convey the totality of how debauched the whole town was - yet how friendly (well apart from the knife fight). </blockquote>
 
This is the gift that keeps on giving. And makes me understand just how little I've lived :think:

canefan

<blockquote class="ipsBlockquote" data-author="dogmeat" data-cid="598296" data-time="1468987322">
<div>
The best weekend session I ever had was Carnival in Holland. The Catholic part of Holland in the south, where they party hard because in theory Lent is coming.
 
The whole town changes its name to Oeteldonk for 3 days and has a new mayor etc. Basically if you don't want to rage you leave town. Buses are free as are the morals.
 
I was 19 and had only been out of a very backward NZ for 3 months so Oeteldonk was a bit of an eye opener.
 
My gf of the time and I were staying at mates place near the centre of town. Celebrations are supposed to start Friday night and run till Sunday night, but as my mate and I finished our working week Thursday lunchtime - we started early and didn't go to bed until the early hours of Monday morning.
 
As you can imagine much of it is a blur especially after 35 years but poignant memories are:
 
<ul><li>leading an oompah band into a canal (literally - which is fucking cold in Feb). Somehow in the confusion I acquired a trombone which I kept for the rest of the weekend</li>
<li>watching the oeteldonk parade. Just like the Santa Parade with floats and bands etc only the floats are things like a gigantic naked buxom wench on her back giving head to an eight foot high frog - oeteldonk has something to do with frogs</li>
<li>taking a guy to A&E because he'd swallowed his tongue and was choking to death. Only he wasn't he was merely clutching his throat and making weird gaaah noises whilst we could all see his tongue. I tried to explain but couldn't for laughing. I wasn't sure if that was acid or mushies but I nearly wept.</li>
<li>Saturday lunchtime two friendly young ladies painted my face with the entire contents of their make-up kits in a very unstructured drug crazed way. Which I still had covering my face on Tuesday. I didn't change clothes all weekend - at the end of which I burned them.</li>
<li>Being chased over the roofs of town by the police for chucking a TV on their car and then pissing on them as they tried to climb up</li>
<li>Convincing my gf that she should "break in" a young (13 yr old) guy we met in a bar as it was the friendly thing to do and look how nice the Dutch are treating us. TBH he looked terrified and gf and I split up after this weekend</li>
<li>somehow getting involved in a bridal party which involved a stand-up quicky with the bride in the middle of the bar which was so crowded all the punters moved in waves to the serving area and back</li>
</ul>Made and lost loads of friends over the weekend as none of them could stay the course but didn't puke once. Did get the DT's for the only time in my life which was sort of fun as I wasn't paranoid but did contribute to gf leaving me as well
 
Never made it to Munich beer fest despite having numerous invites. Couldn't imagine how it could cap carnival in oeteldonk
</div>
</blockquote>
I have lived a sheltered life. That is the kind of story you can dine out on for the rest of your life. With the boys anyway

jegga

When I was about 22 i had a hard night in the turps and was sitting in the middle of the back seat of a taxi when the urge to examine to stomach took me over . Neither one of my mates would swap seats when they realised I needed to chuck and enjoyed my discomfort and the yelling from the cab driver about soilage fees and rubbing my face in my own chunder, I scrambled over into the passenger side and power chucked out the window and apparently wiped the chunder off my face on the headrest in front of me I don't recall that bit though. 
A couple of months later we were getting a cab again and my mate nudged me and pointed out the headrest was missing and then asked the cabbie what happened to it " some filthy little bastard got vomit all over it" was the reply and a lengthy conversation between my mate and the cab driver about what he would do to the vomiter when he got his hands on him took most of the ride home with my mate offering helpful suggestions about possible methods of retribution while I looked out the window and didn't say a word .

The Silver Fern

Food disasters/horror stories