Crap Chronicles: When IBS Strikes in all the Wrong Places Read online

Fish Food

  My husband and I are avid snorkelers but, between the two of us, Jim is the more adventuresome. He’s comfortable teasing a moray eel, and equally content consuming unfamiliar foods sold from street carts. I, on the other hand, would just as soon not play with sea snakes or salmonella. That’s why, when my spouse suggests I follow his lead, I often head in the opposite direction.

  Except when I forget.

  While vacationing on the island of Grand Cayman, Jim and I decided to explore one of the famed reefs located off a pristine beach. Our excursion started midday, before we’d eaten breakfast or lunch, so I already felt wary. “There're bound to be restaurants along Seven Mile Beach,” hubby said. “We’ll get something while we’re there.”

  Arriving at the snorkel site, I surveyed the nearby area for safe sustenance. A Pepto Bismol-colored, frame bungalow advertised a reasonably priced lunch buffet. And by “reasonably,” I mean, unlike other Cayman eateries, this one wouldn’t require us to pay for our meal with gold doubloons.

  Inside the small café, an assortment of aluminum tables and chairs dotted the floor. Salt air wafted through the open doors and windows, where breezes collided with the scents of jerk spices, fried fish, and recycled grease. Next to a five-foot-long buffet bar, a grill offered customers a selection of burgers, fries, and more a la carte items.

  I ordered a burger.

  Jim decided to try the buffet. At two o’clock in the afternoon.

  Pointing to a dish that looked like scrambled eggs, he asked the server, “What’s that?”

  “Ackee,” the waiter said.

  Jim screwed up his face. “What?”

  “Local fish.”

  The server’s description wasn’t a total lie. Technically, though, ackee is a fruit that’s prepared with codfish in the Caymans. More likely than not, the dish included some kind of seafood.

  “I’ll have some of that,” Jim said.

  I gave him a look and pointed at my watch. “That’s probably been sitting there for hours.”

  He shrugged. “I want to try something local. You can get a burger anywhere.”

  Jim was right. Ground beef, if it even was beef, might be just as risky as anything on the buffet. But intuition told me I’d made the wiser choice.

  Seated at our table, Jim scooped a forkful of yellow rubber and lifted the treat to eye level. “Want to try it?”

  “Nuh-uh. Go right ahead.” I remembered other times he’d tummy tested exotic foods. “I hope you don’t regret that.”

  “It’s good,” he insisted.

  Half an hour later, we set our gear on the beach and entered the crystal waters. Outfitted with fins and snorkel masks, we submerged into the turquoise as I looped an underwater camera strap around my wrist. If I spotted something unusual—like maybe an octopus—I wanted to be ready for the shot.

  In tandem, my snorkel buddy and I made our way from the shore to the reef.

  We hadn’t gone far before Jim, who’d drifted slightly ahead, beckoned me to come closer. I angled over to see the reef squid he’d discovered, and then I snapped their photos. The mollusks’ iridescent blue-green eyes and undulating tentacles held me spellbound.

  Jim swam on to the next coral formation while I lingered there, watching the squid disguise themselves by changing colors. At times, they so perfectly blended with the ocean bottom that they almost disappeared from view.

  Eventually I moved on, kicking giant strides past a school of blue tangs. Piercing through the water, sunlight enlivened the vibrant colors and sea life. I could hardly wait to see what would next float past me.

  Up ahead, about twenty yards away, I noticed Jim signaling me underwater. No telling what he’d found. The last time I’d seen him that animated, he’d encountered a giant eagle ray. I rushed to join him.

  The nearer to hubby I drew, the more his gestures intensified. He made muffled sounds through his snorkel, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I strained to be sure he wasn’t yelling, “Shark!”

  Searching the water around him, I noticed nothing extraordinary. I eased in closer and scanned the ocean floor. Maybe he was hovering over a camouflaged flounder.

  Jim’s urgent garbled noises continued. He thrashed his arms like he’d been stabbed by an urchin… and then he tore at his swim trunks as though he’d taken on a jellyfish.

  With a yank, Jim jerked his trunks to his knees and jackknifed his body. Before I could register what was happening, a stream of something that looked like beef chili jetted out behind him. The rusty cloud stained the waters, diminishing my view from two hundred- to two-foot visibility.

  That was my first awareness that the hand signals he’d been giving me were the universal code for “I’m about to launch a torpedo!” Apparently, that one had been omitted from my dive instruction class.

  All I could think at that moment was, ‘Please do not let a wave wash over my snorkel.’

  If a human body has reverse thrusters, I found mine then. Pushing back, I kicked with all my might to distance myself from the spewing anus and the dozens of fish that had become instantly enamored with the anomaly.

  Revolted, I swam back to shore and exited the water.

  Moments later, Jim reunited with me.

  “What the hell?” I screamed.

  “I was sick!”

  “Really? Think you might have warned me?”

  Jim removed his snorkel mask from where it perched atop his head. “I was trying to tell you to get away. Why do you think I was throwing my hands out like that?”

  “To show me something to photograph!”

  He rubbed his belly and grinned. “Well, did you get the picture?”

  ~