This was a few weeks ago, but its been too traumatic to speak of until now.

So I am in Vancouver on work (interviewing candidates for a job on my team), and the third day I meet a friend for breakfast at the hotel. I get free complimentary continental breakfast which includes this cold area with deli meat, cheese, boiled eggs, fruit. I don't like muffins, pastrys so I load up in the cold section, including an assortment of deli meat.

By 11, I am starting to feel not that great, but I think maybe it's cause I'm hungry so I have lunch. By the time lunch is over, I feel like crap (Read: I feel like I have 2 girls, one cup in my stomach).

I proceed to meet with my final interview candidate, and I am pretty much rushing the candidate through the questions, because I figure that spewing on a potential candidate isn't good for the corporate image.

I head to the airport to move to an earlier flight because I am starting to hope I get run over or shot because I feel so bad. I get an earlier flight, but I just miss an even earlier flight so I have to wait an hour and a half in the airport. I steadily feel worse and now people are starting to do the dreaded double-take when they see me because I am looking so bad.

By the time the flight boards I am alternating between feeling like I am in a freezer to sweating uncontrollably. The airline seats me next to a very good looking woman who smiles and starts talking to me as soon as I sit down (she must of not got a good look at my current state). I shut her down for the good of us, her clothes, our seats, the window, and the random passengers who would be hit by projectile vomit if I engage in conversation.

I spend the flight trying to lose myself in music but by midflight, I have to keep putting my head down to stop from passing out / puking / general dying. And I am still burning up, to the point that sweat is running down my back.

When we land, I go to get up, and I have sweated so much that my dress pants are bunched up and stuck to my legs, making me look somewhat fucked up, which is only enhanced by my greenish white skin color (picture Old Greg with no seaweed, and no mangina). The girl looks visibly afraid when they sees the walking corpse that was sitting beside her.

I somehow make the 30 min drive home (I parked at airport) and collapse on my bed. Then, I spend the next 24 hrs re-enjoying the deli meat, over and over.

Moral of the story: Only fucktards eat deli meat at a hotel buffet breakfast.

NBOC