A Sick, Sick Man

Many, many years ago, I had a party side to me, and, well, I had a party one night. It was one of those guy things. Someone might have brought some Super 8mm cultural/educational movies. We usually would listen to music, like Pink Floyd, and throw darts and whatever. The place would get pretty smoke filled, if you know what I mean. It's a very good thing those days are long gone.

This particular event went into the wee hours of the morning. All said and done, everybody went home and I retired. I left all the beer bottles strewn about to be cleaned up later. All of a sudden, I was wakened when I heard the door slam. I looked at the alarm clock. It was 7:30 AM. What the?... My buddy, Frank, from across the street came strutting in and hollered up the stairs, "Hey Dave, come on down and have a beer with me!" Back in those days, if you forgot to lock the door, it was still pretty safe.

"FRANK!? Do you know what time it is? It's 7:30 in the morning, for crying out loud. What are you doing?" I know that I had not consumed nearly as much of that frothy beverage as he had, so he probably was still feeling the effects from only hours earlier. "Go home."

"No. Come on down." Well, I was now fully awake so I said, "OK," and down I went. I was much younger then and could still function on not much sleep. We both sat on the couch. In front of us, on the coffee table, were tons of beer bottles of different brands. Some were empty and others had various amounts of flat fluid left in them. All of a sudden, Frank randomly picked up one of the many Heineken bottles, with about a third left and said, "Oh, I think this is my beer from last night," and took a big swig out of it.

"Yuck, ugh, that's disgusting," I said, trying to keep my heaving stomach from erupting. "You don't know whose beer that was. You're sick."

"I don't care."

I scanned the coffee table and lifted a bottle with, maybe, a half inch left. "OK, then, drink this one." It wasn't even his brand.

"OK, no problem," he responded, while yanking the bottle and its wonderful contents from me. Down the hatch it went, all the while savoring that single gulp and proving it to me with a giant, sarcastic grin.

"You know, Frank, that was nothing but somebody else's swill left in the bottom of that bottle that had hours to fester."

All of a sudden, he made an immediate leap off the couch and bee-lined it into the kitchen faster than I had ever seen a man run. "Bla-a-a-a-h-h," went his stomach, retching every bit of whatever he had left in him into the kitchen sink. I mean, it was a sickening sound. I didn't go in there. When he got a grip on himself, he swore at me and said I was a sick, sick person for saying that.

"What do you mean, I'm sick? You're the one who did it and it was nothing but swill." Back into the kitchen he went.

When he finally came to his senses, he said, "Well, let me tell you something, Dave. I snuck in here this morning to purposely make you throw up. I went into the kitchen and drank most of that Heineken and strategically set it on the coffee table. Then I went over and opened the front door and slammed it shut to wake your butt up. I set the whole thing up to gross you out and I'm the one who got sick. You're rotten."

I sensed immediate laughter overtaking me. "Well, Frank, you should know better than to try something like that on me. You may be 5 years older, but you're 10 miles behind me in the practical joke department and you know it."

"Yup." And home he went, tail dragging between his legs. A defeated man.

I tried to go back to sleep, but, I couldn't stop laughing. Besides, I had lots of bottles to throw away, and cartoons were on and I was just in one of those moods for some reason.

My Mind Was Dead On That Day

A man and a woman approached me one day. I had never met them before. He said, "You have something to tell me." I had no clue as to what he was talking about. I said, "No, I don't think so." He was very persistent. Adamantly, he insisted that I had something important to tell him. This went on, back and forth, for a short period of time. All of a sudden, something came over me. It was a heavy thought and I was filled with something I couldn't really describe. "OK," I said, "but you're not going to like it."

"Please tell me."

I thought about what I was going to say. I almost had no clue. All of a sudden, I blurted out, "All right, then. A few years ago you were in a very bad car accident. You were driving. The woman sitting next to you died."

"Oh my God!"

"She is not angry with you," I told him. "She doesn't blame you. It wasn't your fault. She is very happy where she is. You have nothing to worry about." I had no idea where this was coming from, nor where it would take me.

He asked me how I knew all of this. I said, "You're asking me?" They walked away briefly, then returned. He was crying and she was in utter shock.

"You must be an angel," she said. It wasn't the first, nor the last time that I was asked if I were an angel.

"No, I don't think so," I responded. She was insistent. I was insistent right back.

For some brief moment in time, they chose me to channel information to them. Was it from the deceased woman, somehow forcing us together? Was it that, for a moment, I had picked up his thoughts, as if I were a mind reader? Was it just a fluke, some kind of weird coincidence?

She told me that they were moving to Indiana early the next morning. This is something that had been weighing heavily on his mind. He could not forgive himself. He would not marry her until he felt exonerated. "This gives us a chance to start a whole new life together," she said. Well, glad I could help.

He said, "I have one more thing to ask you," as if to prove I wasn't just making all of this up, like some sort of carnival mind reader. "How many people were in the car?"

"Four. There was another couple in the back seat. They weren't hurt at all."

The man burst into tears again. I was right. They both thanked me profusely, then left, never to be seen again. I am sure that that conversation had quite an everlasting impact on them. It certainly did to me.

I have no idea what came over me that day. I have had minor brushes similar to that in the past. A lot of people have. Where you sense something. Never quite that strong, though. Later that day, I broke down and prayed to never let it happen to me again. It hasn't since.

I slept like a rock that night.

Brotherly Love

No, I'm not!
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

There's something inherent in the nature of men to remain boys all of their lives. Our toys get bigger and more expensive as we get older, but, as all women know, we're still boys at heart. Being that my brother is a military man and we're close friends, we tease each other like any good friends do. Guys do that. Consequently, we kid around about lots of things, like, well, our shortcomings. We kid around about being gay, even though we're not. I always kid Tim about the silent military rule of, "Don't ask, don't tell." I think it was coined during the Clinton administration. The other day, I asked him if it would have been phrased differently if it had come into effect during the Kennedy years. He asked, "What do you mean?" I said, well, instead of, "Don't ask, don't tell," maybe it would have been, "ASK NOT, TELL NOT" He just laughed.

A Lot Of Bull

WDIZ
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

A number of years ago, there was a morning DJ team called Baxter & Mark on the old WDIZ-FM radio station. I'm sure they were, by far, the most popular morning show in Orlando. One of their regular segments, or features, was called the "Hideous Wake-Up Call." This consisted of someone submitting some kind of practical joke with suggestions on what to do or say. They would formulate a plan and then call these people, hoping to fool them to the point of tears. Tears of laughter or tears of pain. It didn't matter to them. One time, for instance, they called a girl who was set to get married that Saturday and have her reception at the Winter Park Civic Center. They told her that, due to a previous booking, and thus a conflict of interest, she would not be able to have her reception there on Saturday. Someone really screwed up big time. We're sorry. Could you postpone your wedding until the following week? Well, that did not sit well and boy did she cry. They finally fessed up and told her who had set that terrible joke up. It was the best man, with her fiancee's blessing. I always wondered if they ever did get married after that incident.

At the Beefy King restaurant, one of the family members who worked there had been a professional hockey player. NHL. Bill Fraser. George Plimpton actually wrote about him in one his books, six pages worth (Open Net: A Professional Amateur in the World of Big-Time Hockey.) One morning I was there, his mother came in. I know I heard her call him "Lammikins." You know, one of those names only a mother would call you. Then and there, I got an idea. Hmmm. Suppose I write a letter to those two radio guys. Ask them to call Bill and tell him you work for 'Restaurants & Institutions' magazine and you're doing an article on small, independent fast food restaurants in the south. Could we come by and interview you and maybe take a few pictures? Now, I had discussed this with his brother-in-law, Roland, to help set it up. He said Bill is always up by 5. Call him any time after that. No problem for Baxter & Mark. They had the 6-10 am shift, so calling that early was no problem. Tell him you had heard he was a professional hockey player at one time. Play that up. How many teeth did you lose? He won't get it. I mean, wouldn't you wonder how the two would be related? Then hit him with the Lammikins thing. That'll get him. He'll freak. And so he did. Click. As soon as he heard the nickname, he hung up. They promptly called him back and he was mad. How did you know that? Who are you? They told him who did it. I knew he wouldn't come after me. I had the blessings of his family.

After that aired, and they probably played it over and over again, at least a half dozen times that day, you'd be amazed how many people came in, for years after that, wanting to meet "Lammikins." I had created a very succesful advertisement. For free. A full page ad in the Orlando Sentinel would have cost thousands of dollars and never would have had nearly that kind of impact. Wow. I was gold around there. Yes sir, Mr. Dave. Anything you want. But actually it was the quality of food that sustained that one shot campaign for so long. My job is to drive in customers, yours is to keep them. And what are friends for? Besides, they already had a strong customer base, but, when someone came into town from Podunk, Florida, they sure did go out of their way to stop by Beefy King to meet Lammikins.

The funny thing was, as resourceful as the "Beefy Boys" were, they managed to cater functions there at the radio station for quite some time after that. One time, for at least a week, Baxter & Mark were hyping a visit by B.B. King that Friday. When the moment arrived, they exclaimed, "Here comes B.B. King now!...Now hold on...What the...Hey, that's not B.B. King...It's BEEFY KING!!!" In walked the boys, with platters of meats, cheeses and vegetables. Holy cow!

A DJ's Journey

This is a bio Wayne wrote about himself a couple of years ago. I seriously doubt he'd have minded me printing it here:

Well, here's the short version. I've worked in Central Fl radio for over 30 years. Started as a news trainee with WDBO in 1968. Hired by WORJ as announcer/news director 1969. Employed there until a co-employee broke me up and I laughed my way thru an entire newscast. Manager Tom Doyle stopped me in front of the station, and as he caught his finger in the heavy glass door, told me if I ever did it again, I'd be fired. Well, (I love Tom and have worked with him since) I don't remember exactly what I told him, however I do know my employment ended at that time.

Went to WTRR in Sanford for a couple of years where I worked with Bill Bauman and George Crossley. Did mid-day jock until going back to WDBO as a newsman/anchor. Worked with Perry Moore, Jim Turner, Bob Raymond, until getting fired for trying to start a union movement and the daily trip to the local bar. (Not sure which one was the key.) Wound up doing mid-days at rocker WLOF as Tom Clark, "the Body Beautiful". Did two years there until I quit on the air because they wanted to change the focus of my call-in show. Said in my last on-air statement, "I would rather eat bark off a tree in the woods, than stay here.) A great moment, however yet another one that led to immediate unemployment. Did a couple of stints as a club dj, making more than I'd ever made in radio... then went back to WDBO in the late 70's thru mid 80's as news director. Worked with market long-timers such as Reagan Smith, Pat Flannagan, Dennis Moore. New company bought the station and did not appreciate the rather laid back approach I took to the job. Last straw was they wanted me to wear a tie and appear to be managerial. Well, that obviously wasn't going to work, so I was unemployed yet again. Shortly after WDBO, I went to WKIS, as morning anchor. Worked with market regulars Adrian Charles, Lynn Levine, Jim Philips. Got fired from there after 6 years, something about ratings. It appeared other stations had them, and I did not. Go Figure.

At some point, who knows, I went to do morning news for WWNZ. Later moved to news director then operations manager. Worked with Peter King, Dave Ross. Station sold to Clear Channel and ran it as a paid advertising shill until they switched frequencies and call letters and brought in new management. I left then, just wanting to take a sabbatical, however, based on the number of calls I've received begging me to return to the air, I believe I've retired.

For all the juicy stories about drunken, pot-smoking, naked and degenerate radio people, you'll just have to wait till the lawyers clear the book. (God, if only I had pictures!!!)

It can be found, with the appropriate links, at: Wayne Trout

Party Hearty & Die Young!

Wayne_Trout
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

That was Wayne Trout's motto, credo and all around toast. Wayne never met a party he didn't like. You'd have to be a fool not to invite him. His presence ensured its success. The consummate entertainer, he always acted in a dignified manner, no matter how much alcohol he consumed. Very honest and a very good friend to many.

I first met Wayne soon after I moved to Florida from New Jersey. He was probably the first person, other than family, who made me feel welcome and accepted in this area. At the time, he was the news director for the old WDBO radio station in Orlando. Florida is such a transient state, with people moving in and out from all parts of the country and world. Consequently, native and long time Floridians aren't as acceptable of outsiders who bring in their customs and, certainly, driving habits. It kind of dilutes the old ways. Wayne didn't feel that way. Although, not a native Floridian, all were accepted in his world. He got me to join a two-hand touch football league. He said, "We play every Sunday at 10 am, no matter what you did the night before." Discipline. "You're not going to be able to sit down come Monday," he said before my first game. He was right. I'd never been so sore in my life. But, you got used to it. These scrimmages led up to the final game of the season, so named by him and a few friends, THE TOILET BOWL. I even designed jerseys and had them printed. Most of the players consisted of local TV and radio personalities, cameramen and engineers. One is now the general manager of the local NBC affiliate, WESH.

Wayne had a loyal bastion of friends. One such friend, Jim Philips, who worked alongside and competed against Wayne over the years, said in the Orlando Sentinel, "If you or your buddy got a divorce or dumped, you could stay with Wayne. And he would turn 'em around in a couple of days." I can attest to that. Jim has the #1 rated afternoon talk show here, The Philips File, which is also on XM Radio "Extreme" channel 152.

We used to meet on Saturdays, early in the afternoon, at Harper's Tavern (Le Cordon Bleu) in Winter Park. There was a very good buffet that came out of the kitchen of the very fancy French restaurant. We'd sit around there and then go to Wayne's house to watch college football. Mostly the Gators. Harper's had a real neighborhood kind of feel to it. Things were never quite the same after it burned down. One time he told us, "Hey, meet at my house this Saturday instead. We're going to have a limberger and onion sandwich party." Limberger cheese and onions? You've got to be kidding me. But we all did. Such was the power of Wayne. In a good way. Who else could get you to do that? He had it all spread out in his dining room. Rye, pumpernickel, mayo, mustard, hot peppers, limberger and onions. With, of course, the requisite tequila chasers. And you know, they were good sandwiches. Later on, after the crowd thinned, by that I mean, the married men had to get on home, poor wives, there were about a half dozen of us left. "OK," Wayne exclaimed, "let's head on over to Harper's for a few!" As we started to huddle toward the front door to leave, we got a concentrated whiff of ourselves and decided against it. There would be no way of explaining what we had gotten into to that crowd. They wouldn't have believed it and we would have been told to go home. I have a lot of memories of my old friend. Too countless to tell here.

Pools, parties, babes and fun! That was the quintessential Wayne Trout. One night, he just went to sleep. 56 years old.

Are You Loansome Today?

Many years ago, while in the restaurant business, we had a very faithful customer by the name of George. George would come in to eat every day. Sometimes two or three times in one day. He called my old boss, Jack, over to him one day. He told Jack he was getting married Saturday and could he have his wedding reception there at the Weiner King. Now, George wasn't playing with a full set of teeth, if you know what I mean. Of course, Jack said. We'll even throw in ice cream cones for dessert or get you a cake. Sure enough, right on schedule, George and his whole entourage showed up. Big hot dog party. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers and fries. Milkshakes and Cokes. The orders kept flying. Plus we had to wait on the other customers, but we had reserved a special section for George and his new bride. After all was said and done, his whole bill came to about $13.00. Back then, if my memory serves me, a hot dog was around 35 cents, maybe 50 cents for a quarter pound burger. Yup, ole George did all right for himself. Everyone had a good time. I think they were going to honeymoon at the old Ringoes Drive-In. George was back that Monday for lunch.

Years later, George approached Jack one more time. This time, he asked him if he could borrow $50. Of course, Jack said. George told him he'd gotten into some kind of a financial mess. Don't worry about it, George, I know you're good for it. Well, George never came back in again. Never saw him around town like we used to, you know, "Hello, George!"

One day, Jack was in downtown Flemington, on Main Street, and sure enough, there was George. Jack asked, "Hey George, where have you been?" George tried to hide his face, like an ostrich sticking its head in the ground. "Listen, forget about the $50 you owe me. You were such a good customer over the years, we just want you to come back. Don't worry about it." George told him, OK, sorry about that. I'll start coming back.

We never saw George again.

Years later, when I owned my own Wiener King, I had a regular customer similar to George. One day he asked if he could borrow $50. I thought about George. I'm not going to let this happen to me. I thought more about it and said, "Of course you can." I never saw him again. You think I would have learned my lesson.

On Me

Bunn Coffee Maker
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

Back in the late seventies, early eighties, I owned a restaurant in New Jersey. I closed at 10 pm during the week, and would pretty much be there for another half hour or so cleaning up. I usually kept the doors unlocked until ready to walk out for the night, but I turned the outside sign off at 10. Once in a while, a wayward soul would come in and ask if we were still open and did we have any coffee left? After a while, the coffee gets pretty nasty and I would throw it out if I had made it hours earlier. Some nights, coffee's just not a big seller, especially during the summer months. Of course, late at night, when I'm closed anyway, I'm not about to make a fresh pot for that one customer who may or may not show up for a cup. Instead, I would run a pot of water through the Bunn-o-matic to get it hot and put it on the burner, just in case. If and when that person asked for a cup, I would say, well, we're really closed, but I have some instant I can make for you (unless the coffee that was left was still fresh enough.) Great! I'd make them a cup and say, no charge, my pleasure. Besides, the register's already locked up for the night. Of course, the coffee didn't cost all that much, but the individual half & half and sugar containers did, plus the to go cup. Oh well, I was always glad to help, and I never lost a customer for doing it. Don't know if I really made any new ones, either. They may have been truck drivers passing through who I might not ever see again, but it didn't matter. If they needed coffee that time of night, there must have been some reason for it and I was only happy to oblige.

A Hard Cell? or Do We Stem The Tide Of Research?

Stem Cell
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

I remember, here in Orlando, a young girl who had a chance to go to New York City on a business trip. It was optional. She asked me for advice. I told her to go for it. It was a chance of a lifetime. You are old enough now and it is time to break out of your shell, to see what the world has to offer. She chose not to go. She'll probably never know what she missed, unless she has opened her mind since then.

Early Christian and political leaders believed that the world was flat and the center of the universe and punished scientists who thought otherwise. Some were put to death for their heresy and others were imprisoned or severely castigated for their teachings based on scientific facts of the day. Many governments adhered to strict interpretations of the Old and New Testaments. What part or scriptures of the Bible spoke of the world being flat? Where does it state that the earth is the center of the universe? Early church and political doctrine was clearly based on a patriarchal interpretation of the Bible, to suit their own needs and prejudices. What they professed was based on an innate fear that change is the devil's work. These beliefs shut out many who came up with sound and logical ideas. Where would we be now if the church did not bend its own rules throughout the ages? Today, many hospitals are affiliated with organized religion. If science, through the church, closed its doors to research, where would these hospitals be today? There would be no one working on cures for cancer. Organ transplants would not exist.

But, does experimentation upon human life at any stage of development have a place in a civilized society? That is a question of great debate.

When does human life begin? Generally, there are three positions to be noted. One is that it begins with the existence of the egg. Another is with the fertilization of the egg, and the third maintains that life begins at the awareness of one's own being. By that, I mean, pretty much when one realizes, "Hey! Let me out of here!" In baby-speak, of course.

Recently, a Harvard stem cell scientist asked the following question: “Imagine an In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) clinic that has caught fire and will burn to the ground. There is one person who is left trapped within the burning building along with thousands of fertilized eggs stored in liquid nitrogen tanks. Who will the firemen attempt to save?” I think we all know the answer to that question. But think about it. Thousands of human lives are destroyed to save one person, if you believe life begins at fertilization.

Since the advent of successful IVF in the seventies, leftover eggs and embryos have been routinely discarded. Why then, are there no arguments for the sake of protecting these? Why are they being allowed to be thrown away? What makes it all right to discard them if they are considered by many to be human life? Where are the watchdog groups? They only seem to be there when the stem cell and cloning issues arise. Who authorized the harvesting of eggs for IVF to begin with? Isn't this also experimenting with human life?

A frozen egg, fertilized or not, could be maintained for years beyond the typical 18 one gets to claim as dependents on their taxes. Someone has to pay for keeping these eggs intact. Certainly, the IRS is not going to offer a deduction on eggs or embryos. I believe the official position was explained when expectant parents tried to claim fetuses as dependents and the government shot back: We need a footprint. We need a fingerprint. We need a birth certificate. Is it true, then, that the IRS, a federal government agency, does not recognize these objects as viable human life? Consequently, how much involvement should the federal government (or any state with an income tax that allows deductions for dependents) have over this issue?

Stem cells are primitive "master" cells that can be programmed to become many kinds of tissue. Human stem cell cloning, as far as it has advanced today, in my opinion, should not be used to make genetically identical babies - called reproductive cloning. That is not what stem cell research and cloning is all about. Unfortunately, a lot of people think that way, since Dolly, the sheep, was "born." And that's all they know. There are ways to utilize stem cells for the benefit of humankind without risking life.

In the case of clinical experiments currently being explored in Korea, to make them patient-specific, researchers have taken DNA from the skin cells of volunteers and put this genetic material into donated human eggs that have had their own genetic material extracted. These eggs were grown to a very early stage of embryo development, when they were just small balls of cells. The scientists then extracted the stem cells. When researchers examined them in the laboratory, the cells appeared to be immunologically compatible to the individual who donated the DNA. This could potentially lead to the eradication of diseases such as diabetes and Alzheimer's, by using your own cells to rebuild and cure yourself. This, by no intentions, means you can perpetually replace cells and parts and live forever. But I wouldn't mind growing another head of hair.

Many people equate this research to creating life, like the Frankenstein monster - in other words, to go against the laws of God and/or nature. In their minds it is morally wrong and reprehensible. I don't think there are any passages in the Bible that clearly address this, among many other issues, so what do we do? Who is qualified to set ground rules? What do we base these rules on? Who polices all the labs in the world? For every black there is a white. Do we keep it white or black or do we use the grey matter in our heads to come up with some kind of working solution? This is the future. There are alternatives, such as obtaining adult stem cells from other means, like bone marrow and vascular organs. At least open your mind to research at different levels. Get to know more about stem cell research before formulating an opinion generally based on religious or political views. Have compassion for the afflicted. What can we do to help? These people might otherwise die. Aren't their lives worth saving? My mother is a diabetic. Wouldn't it be great if a cure were just around the corner? My brother-in-law has leukemia (AML.) Where would he be without the bone marrow transplant he recently underwent?

What if scientists never looked beyond the confines of what is commonly referred to as "acceptable" research? Acceptable to whom and by what consensus? Would the world still be as flat as their minds?

A Very Nosy Bee

Bee-ing Nosy
Originally uploaded by Marinade Dave.

Years ago when I was in the restaurant business, my boss, Jack Little, would lay me off during the summer months. He would get school kids on break from college to work for him. They got to earn some spending money and be productive, and I got a chance to go paint houses for the summer. He could get 3 or 4 kids to work for what he paid me and I would make a good amount painting. It worked out well for everyone concerned. I must say, though, that Jack was the best boss I ever had. An all around great guy. Helped you out. Brought kids up on the right track, whether they worked for him or were just customers. And this place was "hang out central" back then.

One summer, I was painting a restaurant that had an embankment out back. It was in an area of Flemington called Turntable Junction, kind of a colonial shopping district. Some of the people who worked there would dress up like Ben Franklin. Very touristy, but, I never heard anyone scream, "To arms! To Arms!" when British tourists came around. It was more like, "Arm the registers!"

Down below the embankment are railroad tracks where the Black River & Western train would run "tourons" as the native colonists would call them, through scenic routes and back. All along that embankment were clusters of ground hornets. I don't know if their homes would be considered townhouses or condos. I never could quite figure that one out. But there were thousands of them, the bees, I mean. They would fly around me constantly, being the nosy and adventurous little critters that they are. From years of experience, I knew they were harmless, unless provoked.

One afternoon I was up on one of the roofs, painting trim and other areas, when I decided to take my lunch break. I broke out my sandwich and, yum, they smelled food. I just swatted them away. No problem. Except for this one pesky little guy. He just kept buzzing around me and my food. I'd chase him away. He'd come back. Finally, when I thought I was rid of him, I took a nice big bite out of my sandwich. I'm chewing and chewing, and of course, I'm breathing through my nose. Nice deep breaths, savoring my meal. All of a sudden, my little buddy came around the corner of my face, right to the front. Thwoop. Right up my nose he went. Deep into the depths of my sinuses.

Oh no.

I just sat there, motionless. I knew what was about to happen. And it did.

S-C-H-W-W-W-W-O-O-O-O-O-N-N-N-G-G-G!

Oh, the pain. Excrutiating pain. Sinuses closed up shop. Eyes watered down my face like a Hawaiian waterfall. This was not a funny matter. I didn't know what to do. I got up and walked around trying to shrug off the pain. That didn't work. I knew I had no recourse but to just sit it out. I couldn't put ice cubes up my nose. That bee was gone and he wasn't coming back to apologize. I tried to put my mind on other things. Should I go to the emergency room? What should I do?

The pain only lasted about 15 minutes. Good thing for me, I've never had bad reactions to insect bites or stings. Mosquitos rarely even came after me. I've never had any allergies to my knowledge. Maybe it was payback for the times when I was young and I'd chase other kids around with poison ivy. I never touched anyone with it, though.

After the pain subsided, I went back to work. It didn't bother me at all anymore, but, I don't think I finished my lunch. The bees started buzzing around me once again, but I wasn't afraid. I had probably about the worst thing that could ever happen to me by one of their tribe. Sting me on the arm. Hah! No big deal.

He's still in there somewhere. Probably lodged in one of my lungs. Dead. But I heard that anything in the lungs remains there. The lungs don't dissolve foreign objects.