Tell that to the tomato. By Jeff K

In 28 years, I've done the Heimlich Maneuver two times.

For those of you like me who don't math good, that's an average of one Heimlich every 14 years.

The first time, my previous girlfriend had become so fond of a tomato slice that she'd reserved the entirety of her face-hole for the sole purpose of its consumption.

Spreading its little tomato arms and legs out like when you try to put an unwilling cat in a bathtub, this fruit wasn't going down without a fight.

The struggle resulted in the tomato lodging itself in her throat. She made the universal hand motion for "Help me, you jackass. I'm choking!"

I sprung into action.

Long story short, I don't refer to her as my previous girlfriend because the tomato won.

Jump to one relationship and five years later, I was in the lobby of the restaurant at which I worked when a guy came stumbling out of the dining room, face as red as that belligerent tomato from five years before.

Bent over and trying to breathe, this guy's food was clearly trying to kill him.

I sprung into action.

A couple quick pumps later, he coughs. Breathes. Face returning to a normal shade of not-Kool-aid-Man.

Regaining composure, he tells me all he'd really needed was some water because he'd simply inhaled a pepper flake and in fact, wasn't dying. Also, that I wouldn't recognize a real choking victim if they hit me in the face. That my Heimlich technique was "bad form" and I "did it wrong."

Tell that to the tomato, you jerk.


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Content Unrelated creator, passionate napper, mac & cheese connoisseur, grammar Nazi, sarcasm guru.

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