Bucket

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I worked Saturday night.  Around 9pm two girls walked into the hotel, one under her own power, carrying a waste paper basket, and propping up her visibly ill friend.  The healthy girl sat the wobbly one down on the couch – with the bucket – and ran to the front desk to sort something out.  All eyes were on the potential vomiter.  I think I speak for us all when I say there is no greater Theatre then when someone really lets loose a proper vomit fountain.  And this girl had clearly eaten some stinky clams or something.  She was like a turgid garden hose when you put a kink in it just before unleashing a high pressure stream.

But alas, no fireworks.  She got on the elevator without an incident.

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