Deep Down, I always knew that the day would come that I would projectile vomit on the Red Line. I just always assumed that it would be a result of an evening of too much whiskey consumption, not a flair up of the flu bug that I shook a day ago.
To my fellow CTA riders, I really did try to keep it all in my Redeye, but for the past 48 hours I've only been consuming popsicles, gatorade and chicken broth. Newspaper is no match for pure liquid.
To the CTA officials, I suggest you cordon off the third to last car on the northbound Red Line. I hear kitty litter does wonders for soaking up bile, feel free to bill my transit account for the cost of said litter.
And to my stomach, thank you for keeping thing under wraps until after I got off work. If it was going to happen, I would much prefer that it occurred in an environment where people regularly express their bodily waste rather than in a kitchen.
Next time though, I would appreciate some warning signs, such as some salivation, or just hold on for two more stops so I can do it in the gutter like the classy girl that I am.