We'd traveled to Portland, Oregon for a funeral and had spent the night in a hotel. I was pregnant with my third child and through trial and error, the doctor and I had figured out how to help me not throw up everything I ate. The solution was a B-6 vitamin and half a Unisom every night before bed. The problem was that I'd forgotten my remedy in the car and had been too tired to go get it once I remembered it. I thought I'd be okay. I hadn't thrown up for several days. Maybe this was a chance to see if I could make it without my nightly anti-vomit cocktail.
The next morning, I felt a little queasy, but not too bad. We went to breakfast where I tried to enjoy some bland scrambled eggs and toast. Everyone else had pancakes or omelets and they looked delicious, but I didn't dare risk it.
My husband and two younger brothers decided it would be fun to go to an I-MAX showing of "The Magic of Flight," a movie featuring the daring skills of the Blue Angels. I love air shows and that sounded fun, so we went to the I-MAX theater and got great seats--right in the middle of the theater with a great view of the enormous screen.
The movie was exciting and the aerial tricks were impressive. Unfortunately, as the movie went on, I started salivating -- a sure sign that my pregnancy sickness was kicking into gear. My three-year-old daughter decided she wanted held and so she was snuggled up on my lap as the screen began to show a spinning dive toward earth from inside the cockpit. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay," I repeated to myself, hoping that like the little engine that could, I could talk myself into being okay.
When I thought I'd kept my eyes closed long enough to miss the in-flight acrobatics that had threatened me, I opened my eyes. Clouds were spinning, a plane in front of me was twisting wildly and before I knew it, a shower of puke was silhouetted against the screen. It was impressive and violent and uncontrollable. After the first eruption had flown magnificently through the air, I tried to stand up, but my large stomach and three-year-old daughter made it impossible, so with the next wave, I simply leaned over and threw up the rest of my breakfast into the empty chair beside me.
It was disgusting. It was humiliating. I started crying. I got up and carried my daughter out of the theater and to the bathroom, where I tried to clean us both up.
They weren't able to show the next screening. I may very well have disrupted their entire schedule that day.
And that, my friends, is how to clear out an I-MAX theater.