An Early Morning Account of February 19, 2018

Last night was one of the most memorable nights of my college experience.

I hope to convey it accurately for you all.

It all began when I was hosting a prospective student in my dorm room.  I often do this.  Typically, it is a high school senior on a college visit, and they spend the night to see what dorm life is like.

It started out like any other time I have hosted.  I met the girl a couple hours prior, we went to a worship service on campus, and then decided to go to sleep around 11pm. (my roommate and I on our bunked beds and the visitor on a mattress on the floor).

My roommate and I watched some Netflix on our laptops (typical) before falling asleep around 12:30.

The next thing I know is that I was waking up at 1:45am to my prospective student aggressively hurling onto the floor.

Now.  At this point, you may be thinking she just puked a little.  I am here to tell you folks that she BARFED.  Fire hose.  Entire contents of stomach.  Big time barf.

In what could be a record, my roommate and I flew out of our beds and flipped on the lights.  Poor prospective student was on all fours with a massive pile of puke in front of her.  If you're getting queasy, hang with me.  I was queasy too.

Important side note: my roommate and I both have a job on campus to clean the bathrooms in the dorms.  Therefore, we both have keys to the closet that contains all of the cleaning supplies.

My roommate and I quickly skirt out of the room and head to the closet.   We slap on our rubber gloves and look at our options.  Well.  We have shower cleaner because, well, our job is to clean the showers.  It's our only option, people.  It's also 2am.  And there is a pile of puke on our carpet.

We fill up a bucket of shower cleaner and grab the sponges.  We're ready.  My roommate is a nursing major, and she's on a mission to get this barf cleaned up.  Although I am not a nursing student, I have full intentions of assisting her in this endeavor.

You may be wondering what poor prospective puker is up to.  Rest assured that she was in the laundry room scrubbing her shoes and sweatshirt, which happened to be in the splash zone.

We make our way down the hall to our room.  I'm ready to clean up the puke.  I've never been in a puke situation (other than my own puke), but I have always assumed it wouldn't bother me and I'd clean it up no big deal.

Well, my friends, this was not the case.  I took one look at that pile of yarf.  I took one sniff of that pile of yarf.  And I. Was. OUT.  The image paired with the rancid smell hit me like a ton of bricks and the contents of my own stomach were on their way up and out.

Amidst my eye watering and gagging, I mustered up, "I'm so sorry I can't help.  I just....*gag*...can't."

My saint of a nursing major roommate replies with "it's fine!" as she begins to pick up handfuls of the yarf at a time, placing them in a Walmart sack. 

At this point, I am still hunkered over trying to keep myself from throwing up also.  My roommate requests a shovel to help clean this up.

My reply?  "We don't...*gag*...have a shovel!"

Roommate brings the sack of puke to the dumpster.

Meanwhile, I relocate prospective puker who "feels fine" to the empty dorm room next door.  Because quite honestly, I thought she was just getting started.  I also feel horrified for this poor thing because how awful to yak all over a stranger's carpet on a college visit?

At this point, it is 2:30am.  My roommate has removed the worst of the barf.  Now we just have the liquid remnants.  We need a scrub brush.

Getting a scrub brush means that I don't have to smell or look at the yak on the floor, so I'm all about getting that brush.  Found one.  Here we go.

With a bucket of shower disinfectant and a brush, my roommate goes to town on what's left of the barf.

I decide to turn on the scentsy at full blast and drop a few new wax cubes in there.  Anything to dissipate this ungodly stench.

3am.   My roommate is calling the floor scrubbing quits.  Second Walmart sack of barf is in the dumpster.  Prospective puker is relocated next door.  Her mom has just begun the 45 minute drive to come get her.



At this time, my roommate informs me she needs to take a shower.  She was knee deep in a pile of yak, and she's not about to climb into her clean sheets.  Shower it is.  At 3:15am.

This is the story about how my roommate and I went to bed at 4am because a stranger upchucked on our carpet.

The big take aways from this experience are that my roommate is a saint.  And I may not be the best person to call when someone is vomiting.  I'll stick to social work.