He's Really Good at Diagnosing Mechanical Issues

Hick has spent a lifetime working with machines. Big ones, little ones, factory, home...you name it, Hick can probably tell you how it works, and how to fix it. He can listen to a car drive by, and tell you what work needs to be done. Smell the exhaust of a truck in front of us, and determine that "It's running too rich." Whatever that means. Maybe all guys can do that. To quote Hannibal Lecter (but over a different topic), "I, myself, cannot."

Yes, Hick is good at diagnosing what ails machines. But not what ails himself. As if it wasn't bad enough that he hurt his arm wiping his butt...Hick came down with a bout of vomiting and diarrhea on Saturday.

I had no inkling anything was wrong with him. He'd spent the morning at the auction. Sold a lady a child bed out at the local junior college. Come home and puttered around in his new Freight Container Garage, trying to sort and unpack numerous storage unit treasures. He was planning to go to his regular auction at 6:00.

At 4:00, Hick appeared in the doorway of my dark basement lair. I had the overhead fluorescent lights on (except for the two of the four that are burned out). Hick said he was going to the auction early, because they were supposed to have live bluegrass music.

I said that Hick looked like death warmed over.

"What do you mean?"

"You just look bad. You face is bloated. Your eyes are popping out. You look bad."

"I really don't feel very good. But I want to hear the music."

"How do you not feel good?"

"I'm kind of nauseous. I'll be okay."

"Were you snacking?"

"I had some of that candy I gave you for your birthday, that you gave me. And some of my own candy. And some of my cookies..."

"You can't eat like that! My candy was pure sugar! You're not supposed to have it! Your blood sugar probably spiked, and now it's crashing, and you feel bad. You HAVE to have some protein along with that stuff. That you're not even supposed to have. And if you ate too much sugar free stuff...that gives people diarrhea."

"I know that. I'll eat some cheese or a Slim Jim on my way. I don't think it's that."

By 6:08, I heard Hick stumping around upstairs. By 6:15, I heard him vomiting in the master bathroom over my head. I went up to see what was wrong with him. Found him in the La-Z-Boy with an afghan pulled up over his face.

"Are you coming down with something?"

"I don't think so. I don't feel like I have a cold. I think I got food poisoning."

"From what? What did you eat?"

"Well, I ate a fish sandwich at Hardee's for lunch. It might have been the tarter sauce. But I think that's too recent."

"Yeah. If you have food poisoning, or more likely some intestinal 24-hour thing, you probably caught it one or two days ago. Two days ago was Thursday. We were at the lottery office, and then stopped by the casino. We both ate the same thing for lunch. The burger. Medium. But I'm not sick. What did we have for supper Thursday? Oh. You had hot dogs. And I had salad. Then Friday..."

"I know what it was! It was them hot dogs. Not on Thursday. I had them on Friday night, too, before I went to the Friday night auction. It was that cheese! It tasted different. Yeah. I didn't put the cheese on my hot dogs Thursday, but I did on Friday."

"I seriously doubt it was the cheese. That cheese was still good until April. It was just the end of the bag. I put it on my own salad, and I'm not sick. It's not the cheese."

"Yeah. Maybe not. Maybe it just tasted different because it was cheddar, and I've been having pepper jack. I don't know what else it could be! See? You accused me of eating candy, but I hardly had any of it. That's not what made me sick."

"I think you caught something. Something at the casino. People were hacking and snorting and wheezing all over the place. I hope you didn't get the flu. I KNOW you don't wash your hands. You came right to lunch, and I know you didn't wash your hands before eating. That's why I never let you carry my soda! You grab it around the rim of the cup! I don't want to be licking other people's germs!"

"Well. I didn't wash my hands before I ate..."

"OR, you might have picked up something in the doctor's office when you got your shot Friday afternoon. SICK people go to the doctor's office!"

"It was only me and the nurse. But last week, she DID tell me that we couldn't go into one of the exam rooms, because they'd just had a sick kid in there."

"See? I'm sure you picked something up at the casino or the doctor's office. One was 48 hours before you got sick, and the other was 24 hours before you got sick. That's it."

"Maybe. I don't feel like I'm dying, like that time I ate that linguini with clam sauce TV dinner."

"You're not green like you were then, either."

 "I'm just ready to get over it."

Yeah. I'm ready for him to get over it, too. He was sleeping without his breather, and up every hour. And underfoot until he needed to meet back-creek neighbor Bev over at his Freight Container Garage to sell her a coat tree.

I don't know what Hick has, but I'm pretty sure a man who last month ate six-week-old bologna that was saved for the dogs...didn't get sick from eating non-expired shredded cheddar that I ate at the same time, with no unusual results.