Worst Experience in a Restaurant
It is 6 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 18, 2018. My 20th birthday was last night. I am just now walking up to my hostel, The Wombat, after spending the entire night alone and lost on the metro. I am in Vienna, Austria, and it is one of my favorite cities in the world. I don’t think I am yet sober.
Our bus for Salzburg leaves in 30 minutes, and I still need to shower and pack my bag.
I make it onto the bus and immediately pass out on the shoulder of the boy next to me. Ethan is his name, I think.
My roommate Cat and I, along with a couple of people we’ve met this weekend, don’t go on the “Sound of Music” tour; we don’t explore the shops in the tiny town; we go to the first open restaurant we can find and set up camp.
I order the veal, which comes with a hot pretzel on the side. I ask for it without the veal and explain I am a vegetarian.
When the man helping us comes out with our food, he brings everyone the meal they ordered and gives to me the biggest, most delicious bowl of scrambled eggs and potatoes with a side of soft pretzel.
Five minutes later, as I am finishing this monster bowl, I realize I’ve made a mistake. I spend the next ten minutes fighting my body, sweating. And I spend the following 40 minutes throwing up in the restaurant bathroom.