When you go through an airport with a pet in a carrier, everyone is your friend.
When you spend four hours in the emergency room with some worm-infested fish in a bag, everyone is your friend, and is also an amateur scientist. Everyone.
I won’t mention the name of the restaurant, because I would own its search results within two hours. It’s probably not appropriate to list here. If you really must know, ask me in person or email. I’ll be happy to tell you. It’s a nice restaurant.
The halibut was delicious. From Alaska, fresh, and apparently never frozen. Apparently never fully cooked, either. Between two lobes of flesh, about 2/3rds of the way through the filet, a wiggly pink ~1″ worm was quite comfortably nestled. Actually, later in the ER, one of my eagle-eyed junior scientist neighbors noticed that there were two, happily wriggling around the remaining piece of uneaten fish.
What a freaking night. We drove straight to the hospital, where we watched two hours of South Park, and they carried my worm off in a little dated and numbered cool-whip specimen container. So now I’ve got a date with the LA County department of public health, as well as a follow-up with my friendly neighborhood infectious disease specialist. Stunning.
The good news is, normally the symptoms for this manifest within a couple of hours. It’s all treatable, and if I actually did manage to ingest a friend of the fully living, third-larval stage parasitic nematode that I got to bring home from the restaurant, well, at least it’s tremendously rare to experience severe symptoms.
Overwhelming anxiety and a phobia of anything related to Google Image Search Results for “Pseudoterranova decipiens” do not apparently count as symptoms.
There’s humor in this. The scene I made in the restaurant was pretty good. And oh, later, at the ER? The part where the psycho looking homeless guy comes in, carrying a paper, sits down two seats away from me, and within 30 seconds, slams the paper as hard as he can, right down on the baggie containing my worm? Comedic gold.
“Uh, hey…”
“Oh, was that yours?”
I guess you had to be there.