Viso's Gluttony Guide: Dishes From Hell
By Mike Viso
This week's story is pretty sad and pretty brief. It all starts on a Wednesday afternoon.
I was finishing up my duties at Talk Radio 1210 and I decided I was going to do something that I never do, leave on time. At work I like to fiddle around, write bits, these articles or just waste time before heading home. However, I felt
I wanted to do some yoga since my back was killing me. I scooted out of work at 3:30 p.m.—only a half hour late—and headed home. On this chilly rainy night, I figured I should make something warm for dinner as well. As my thoughts percolated, I remembered that my sink was full of dishes. Normally, that's not a horrible thing, but we don't have a dishwasher in a house that was remodeled three years ago, go figure. Anyway, I sped home and changed out of my awesome "Sparkle and Shine Window Washing and Janitorial Services" shirt that I was wearing. See Mom, tasteful plug! I was particularly homesick that day so it made me feel like I was getting a piece of home. Plus, I had some frozen gravy—red sauce to non-Sicilians—and I figured I'd make some nice rigatoni.
I can't tell you how much I loathe washing dishes. It's right up there with my hatred of non-alcoholic JELL-O. I have a whole routine to prepare myself for this nightmarish event. First, you have to put on "bummy" clothes. A stained sweatshirt, sweatpants and old sneakers would be most people's go-to, but I'm claustrophobic (the weirdness is adding up) and water soaked clothes give me an anxiety attack. I have to throw on shorts and a t-shirt. I was proudly rocking my St. Miguel School bike-a-thon t-shirt.
Side note: You should donate to that school in Camden, N.J. They do great work and the bike-a-thon is awesome. I'll explain how I added 25 extra miles to the course one year at a later date.
I also had on my Sacred Heart High School (represent!) shorts from sophomore year gym class. They look like '80's NBA shorts. They are long enough to be acceptable
in society but short enough to make you feel uneasy. Next step is to put on the iPod. Of course, because I'm dumb, I left my iPod charger at home so I would have to crank up the Dance Party channel on the TV. Music is a must during this banal activity. I can't stress how much I hate this act. Finally, I'm ready to get this party started.
Here's a little lesson for you that wash your dishes like June Cleaver. Please make sure you use running water that is as hot as you can stand. It's vile to dunk your dishes in increasingly dirty water. Also, make sure you don't use a sponge. I won't eat at people's houses that wash their dishes with sponges. "Hey come over for dinner, I just washed my dishes in sewer water with a body luffa."
With this dastardly deed underway, I wash the big stuff first for three reasons. First, so it creates space. Second, so I feel accomplished. Third, if I feel like stopping it, it makes it look like I did more. So after washing a giant skillet, I move on to glasses (they take up a ton of space). One Yankees cup down; (I'm mentally fist-pumping to "Till the World Ends Remix"); one Mickey Mouse cup down; and one broken glass that filets my index finger from above the knuckle near the base of where my fingers split.
BLOOD GUSHES. Now, I've severed a piece of my finger off in a deli slicer—yummy—but this actually hurt worse. My natural tendency is to shake my hand when I hurt it. SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT made me realize I should stop. I scramble for my pants as blood is dripping across our light brown wooden floors. I realize it's dripping down my leg and grab a towel. It's instantly soaked. I grab my pants and put them on with one hand. I realize I touched my finger at some point with my right-hand so now that is covered in blood. I wipe that hand on my shirt, switch towels and sprint for the car. I worried about getting dizzy but I don't want to wait for an ambulance and on a rainy day it's unlikely I'll catch a cab quickly.
Now, my car is only a year old and I'm not psycho about my car, but I don't want it to look like a white Ford Bronco if you catch my drift. So it's raining, I call my roommate Thomas for directions. Yes, the same guy who crashed a black-tie wedding reception was my go-to for directions to the hospital. If you haven't read that story, check my archives, you'll enjoy it. It takes me 15 minutes in rush hour to get there as I continuously bleed. I valet the car because I'm getting nauseous. However, this process takes five minutes because there's a line and the valet is making people back out for me. Amazingly, I didn't back into the cars behind. Thank you St. Jude, I'm really testing you as far as lost causes go.
I get into the ER, again blood stains all over my shirt and crimson red towel wrapped around my hand. Some woman in front of me is taking forever with her insurance cards and asking questions. The sniveling old man behind the counter is in less of a rush and I'm starting to wobble. Finally, I get up there and he goes, "So, bloody hand? How did ya do that?" If I hand enough energy, I would have said, "Picking my nose," but I was straightforward. If you want to see a live tweeting of the first three hours in the ER, follow me on Twitter @mikeviso. Here's a little flavor of what I ran into: A guy bleeding as much as me rushed back, a guy draping himself in blankets like a ghost, a lady telling me a gory story about her fingernail, the same lady falling asleep and snoring and my encounter with a celebrity look-a-like.
In all, I waited SEVEN hours. I was at this same hospital with two sprained feet a few months before and I was in and out in three hours. Once back with the nurses, they apologized because someone made a mistake. They are great people there and they do fantastic work, so I don't want to say anything bad.
Final stats: over 100 texts, 30 or so tweets, 5 phone calls, 2 x-rays and 7 stitches. I'm sure you are wondering how this fits in with a food blog. Well here's my review, order from Kansai on Spring Garden because that's what I did Thursday night. Beef Teriyaki Box Dinner and Fried Cheesecake. Decent price, quick delivery, an abundance of food and well worth every penny. Got a problem? I'm typing with 7 fingers, so you're welcome!
