Throwback Thursday #36: Puking My Way Across Kentucky (Part 1)

“You never know when you're making a memory.” ~Rickie Lee Jones

Well, it's National FFA Convention week. I knew exactly what my Throwback Thursday blog had to be......but I didn't realize I would have SO much to say about it. So, we're going to break this baby into several parts. (And we have a serious lack of pictures.....mind you it was before digital cameras and I was deathly ill.....so we'll have to work with what we have even if they realy don't fit the particular part of the story).

In case you might have missed my prior FFA posts, I was super involved in the organization when I was in high school. I was on a team competing in a different judging contest at National FFA Convention 4 different years. (I know I'm mentioned this before, but Mr. F was the best ag teacher ever in life.....clearly!) We won the State FFA livestock contest my freshman year, so my first National FFA Conventon was back in the good ol' days circa 1999.

Little did I know that this trip would lead to a story that would follow me for the rest of my life.

The week started when we loaded up in the school station wagon to head to the airport. We're talking old school 1970 model with the bench seat and then one seat in the very back that faced the rear of the car (this would be a time I wished I had a digital camera). Now, mind you, we leave the brand new Excursion and the two year old Suburban behind because Mr. F had some insane love for driving the oldest, crappiest vehicle possible. It was some sort of badge of ag teacher honor apparently. Anyway, we flew to Kentucky and worked out at tons of different ranches. It was great to see so many great operations and see some really great livestock.

Then, the fateful night happened. We were in a flea bag motel (also an ag teacher badge of honor apparently) in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. We were studying for the test and it was NOT going well. We went through lots of punishments for being stupid.....standing up until we got a question right, listening position until we got a question right (think doing a pilates plank), dead coakroach until we got a question right, etc. Finally, at like 10:00 at night Mr. F decided enough was enough and we could eat. He drives us to Arbys. And we order (trying not to gag as I type the words) an Arby's Roast Beef sandwich. We wake up in the morning, and several of us feel pretty queezy. But we had a grading practice up in the hillbilly hills. We load up in the car and hit the windey roads up to the sale barn where the practice was. Now, mind you, I get car sick on windey roads when I feel perfectly fine otherwise. And Mr. F usually thought it was funny to drive too fast or do some extra weaving. This trip, as I was trying not to puke all over the rental car, I knew I must have looked bad, because he was driving slow and calm.

Well, we get there and one of the boys on the team goes to the hospital. The rest of us went to the sale barn. When we got there, Mr. F decided to give me some huge green Mexican pill (literally, from Mexico) because this thing apparently was supposed to cure anything. Well, it didn't. Before long, I was puking my guts out. Mr. F and I head to the sale barn office to call my parents. He tells them that I am really sick and probably have food poisoning. Then he puts me on the phone.....first with my mom, then with my dad. And let me explain how the conversations went.
Mom: OMG, you get to the hospital now. You're going to die. I should fly out there. This is bad. Drink more water.

Dad: You'll be fine. Be tough. You only get to judge livestock here once. Don't ruin it. No one dies from food poisoning.

So what happened next? Who won the advice battle?

Stay tuned next week for Part 2 of "Puking My Way Across Kentucky!"