The Gas Station Hot Dog

My husband, Gene, and I slept snugly in a warm, cozy bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads. Our bellies were full from holiday feasting at my mother’s house in Bonaire, and we had retired to a spare bedroom that once belonged to my brother. That’s when it happened, all those years ago. We were disturbed from our peaceful slumber by the unmistakable sound of someone being violently ill in the bathroom across the hall from our room.

“Gene, do you hear what’s going on in there?” I whispered in the darkness.

“Do you think I’m deaf?” he shot back. “Yes, of course I hear it.” After a fifteen-minute break, the vomiting sounds ramped up again, followed by flushing. Then again. Then again.

Knowing that all sorts of stomach bugs are passed from person to person during wintertime gatherings, Gene and I hatched an emergency evacuation plan right there in the darkness: get up at 6 a.m., wash our hands like surgeons, pack our bags without touching anything, load up the dogs, and hightail it home. To summarize, we would treat the scene like the biohazard that it was and get the heck out of Dodge stat.

“Whatever you do,” Gene warned me, “don’t touch anything— surfaces, your face, your mouth, your eyes, your nose…” When morning came, we learned it was our poor brother-in-law Bill who’d been puking his guts out all night. We washed our hands a dozen times and hit the road without coffee or breakfast. Mom understood— nobody wants a stomach bug during the holidays.

As soon as we got home, I had to start cooking and cleaning for Gene’s sister and sister-in-law, who were coming into town that evening. They planned to spend the night and greet Christmas morning with us. All day long, I kept waiting for one of us to feel a wave of nausea or a sensation of wooziness or something, but by 4 p.m., we still felt fine.

That’s when my sister called. “I know you are worried about catching something from Bill,” she said, “but don’t worry. It wasn’t a virus. Bill confessed. When he stopped for ice yesterday, he ate a gas station continued from page

hot dog in the parking lot. There is no telling how old that thing was.”

Relief flooded my body as I imagined Bill eating a red, shriveled weiner plucked from one of those ancient roller grill machines. I found Gene immediately and shared the good news that Bill had consumed an apparently tainted “gas station hot dog.” It was probably simple food poisoning. Phew!

Well, Gene’s sister and sister-in-law arrived, and the four of us sat down to a lovely Christmas Eve meal around our decorated dining table. Halfway through our dinner, Gene suddenly pushed back his chair and left the room. A minute later, we heard those all-toofamiliar sounds followed by flushing.

“Uh oh,” I said.

The two women instantly put their utensils down. “We were gonna spend the night,” his sister finally said between the bathroom noises filling our house, “but I think it’s best if we just head back to Atlanta this evening.”

“I understand,” I said with great disappointment.

Thirty minutes later, Gene was wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito. His sister and sister-inlaw wished him a merry Christmas through the bedroom door before running out of our house as quickly as we had hurried out of my mother’s home that morning.

Gene looked at me and said, “Apparently, it wasn’t the gas station hot dog.”

“Apparently not,” I replied.

“The gas station hot dog” story has become a legend in our family. Anytime someone gets sick during the holidays, somebody inevitably says, “Maybe they ate a gas station hot dog…” And we all laugh.

But this story also serves as a public service announcement as we approach Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thoroughly wash your hands with soap and warm water several times a day during the holidays (especially right before meals), and try not to touch your face or consume food with your hands. Clean and disinfect surfaces in your home with a bleach cleaner. And for God’s sake, if you’re sick with norovirus, isolate yourself as soon as symptoms occur to help prevent the spread.

Happy Thanksgiving! Stay safe, and may no one in your family get sick this holiday season.

STUDENTS OF THE MONTH — J.D. Dickerson Primary has announced November Students of the Month. (L to R): Back Row: Fahdnail Bobakr, Trtistan Fowler, Harper Martin, Makinna Sanchez, Toni Kate Dennis, Blakelyn Brooks, Hope Hargrove, Wilder Glenn, Yonatan Gomez-Sales, Kyson Butler, Middle Row: DeShayla Ramsey, Jensen Coxwell, Laney Carr, Major Washington, Heavenn Roach, Madilynn Wickstrom, Rosemary Wolfe, Major Johnson, Alison Champion, Front Row: Katia Portillo, Ulani Collins, Kingsley Foskey, Sara Kate Shiver, Paisely Graham. Not pictured: Karylnn Brown.