NATURAL SELECTION
We stumbled out of the club and Carroll was starving. “Mate we gotta get some food! I’m famished”
Chinatown was rammed with drunken tourists and flustered waiters irritably waved us away. The dodgy hot dogs hastily slapped together by shifty looking hot dog men were unappealing. I grew queasy just watching them sizzle and spit on the makeshift barbies.
“Curry at Earls Court?” I suggested, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Yeah let’s do it mate”
Thirty minutes later and we emerged from the curry shop, Carroll frantically tearing the wrapping in his haste to get at the bright orange gruel inside.
He took a bite and was speechless.
“Is it good mate?” I asked, happily tucking into my lamb lavished in oily, brownish gravy, enjoying the greasy mess as you only can when you’re drunk.
Carroll put down his plate. He seemed to be trying to say something.
“Is it shit?” Ungrateful tosser! What did he expect for four pounds at five in the bloody morning.
His face started to go red.
“I’m chooookeeee…….innnngg!”
He stumbled around, desperately wheezing for oxygen his hands grabbing at his throat.
I hesitated.
I paused and stopped to see if anyone was around. Do I give him the Heimlich?
But what if someone saw us? What if someone saw us with my arms around Carroll from behind? What if someone saw us with my arms around Carroll from behind while making what could quite easily be misconstrued as a thrusting movement. Was my newly discovered irrational homophobia going to stop me from saving my mate’s life.
I compromised. How about I whack him on the back a few times and if he passes out then I’ll give him the Heimlich.
I whacked him once.
Twice.
Three times. This is not looking good.
Whack! A fluorescent orange object burst from his mouth and flopped limply onto the pavement.
He gasped long delirious breaths as oxygen filled his starved lungs and colour returned to his face.
“You saved my life, Hoon! You saved my life” he squawked.
I only felt relief. That I wouldn’t have to explain to his mother that her son had died whilst choking on a piece butter chicken but most of all relief that I didn’t have to perform the Heimlich.
“You’re a fucking idiot!” I laughed as he ravenously tucked into the rest of his meal.
I had lost my appetite.
Chinatown was rammed with drunken tourists and flustered waiters irritably waved us away. The dodgy hot dogs hastily slapped together by shifty looking hot dog men were unappealing. I grew queasy just watching them sizzle and spit on the makeshift barbies.
“Curry at Earls Court?” I suggested, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Yeah let’s do it mate”
Thirty minutes later and we emerged from the curry shop, Carroll frantically tearing the wrapping in his haste to get at the bright orange gruel inside.
He took a bite and was speechless.
“Is it good mate?” I asked, happily tucking into my lamb lavished in oily, brownish gravy, enjoying the greasy mess as you only can when you’re drunk.
Carroll put down his plate. He seemed to be trying to say something.
“Is it shit?” Ungrateful tosser! What did he expect for four pounds at five in the bloody morning.
His face started to go red.
“I’m chooookeeee…….innnngg!”
He stumbled around, desperately wheezing for oxygen his hands grabbing at his throat.
I hesitated.
I paused and stopped to see if anyone was around. Do I give him the Heimlich?
But what if someone saw us? What if someone saw us with my arms around Carroll from behind? What if someone saw us with my arms around Carroll from behind while making what could quite easily be misconstrued as a thrusting movement. Was my newly discovered irrational homophobia going to stop me from saving my mate’s life.
I compromised. How about I whack him on the back a few times and if he passes out then I’ll give him the Heimlich.
I whacked him once.
Twice.
Three times. This is not looking good.
Whack! A fluorescent orange object burst from his mouth and flopped limply onto the pavement.
He gasped long delirious breaths as oxygen filled his starved lungs and colour returned to his face.
“You saved my life, Hoon! You saved my life” he squawked.
I only felt relief. That I wouldn’t have to explain to his mother that her son had died whilst choking on a piece butter chicken but most of all relief that I didn’t have to perform the Heimlich.
“You’re a fucking idiot!” I laughed as he ravenously tucked into the rest of his meal.
I had lost my appetite.
posted by Hooner at 8:07 pm
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