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“...one of the most well known food-borne illnesses is salmonellosis, more commonly referred to as salmonella, which can be transferred not only through raw poultry but also beef, eggs and unwashed fruit.”
“Salmonella?” the portly redhead at the front of the table chimed in. “Sounds like a character on the Sopranos HA HA HA HA HA!”
The instructor and everyone seated at the conference table joined in her laughter as I rested my head on my palm, closed my eyes and fantasized that I had tire iron in my hands and a license to do whatever I wanted with it. I had just crept up on the aspiring comedienne when a voice piped up from the front of the room to drag me back to reality.
“Stay awake back there, Mark!” the instructor requested. “We’ve got a full day of this to get through and we can’t have you sleeping in the first thirty minutes!”
“Maybe he’s got shigellosis! Exhaustion is one of the symptoms!” the obnoxious woman helpfully added as she shot a toothy grin in my direction. “Don’t touch me Mark HA HA HA HA!”
Another round of chuckling ensued. I managed a tight-lipped smile and sat up in my chair, making a mental note not to do anything else to attract attention to myself. Once the instructor had regained his composure he resumed his lesson, going over each and every kind of horrible disease one can obtain from eating improperly handled food. His words ran together into indistinguishable droning as I scanned the room, hoping that I could find somebody else at the table experiencing the same kind of crushing boredom I was. No such luck. All I saw were a dozen beaming faces in business casual, inexplicably delighted to spend their Saturday learning about how tainted food would undoubtedly kill them.
Like the idiots we’re serving know the difference. A smirk crept across my face as I remembered how just last night some miserable prick kept sending his steak back for being too well cooked. All he seemed to care about is that the last one he got was practically mooing. Didn’t seem to notice that it had somehow managed to hit the floor and be stepped on a couple times before reaching the plate.
The instructor moved on to the mortal dangers of raw shellfish as I glanced at the ancient analog clock on the wall, having to squint to see past its round frame of thick scratched glass. 8:28. I hadn’t even been there half an hour and I already felt like slamming my forehead into the cheap pine table. To think I was happy about this food safety class getting me away from the restaurant for a day. This is torture. I don’t even care anymore that I’m getting paid for this. I’d be willing to slip the instructor fifty bucks if it meant I could get the hell out of here.
The barely audible click of the second hand grew louder as I focused in on it, willing the slim plastic appendage to speed up and shorten my time spent in this pale fluorescent hellhole. It kept on its excruciating pace despite my best efforts, actually seeming to slow down the more willpower I put into it. My gaze drifted to the open window where the scene of a magnificent spring day played out before me, torturing me with its simple perfection. A gentle wind fluttered through the newly formed leaves of a stately oak as golden sunlight illuminated the expanse of grass and wildflowers that lay before it, populated by a pair of squirrels that frolicked happily within its blooming beauty.
Oh, c’mon, that’s just rubbing it in. I grumbled at nature’s shameless attempt to aggravate me as I glanced again at the clock. 8:28. My body crumpled into the chair and I cast my eyes skyward, overcome with despair at the prospect of spending another eight and a half hours trapped in this room. Maybe if I jam a pen into my neck they’ll forget all about the class by the time I get out of the hospital. I had started to idly stroke the ballpoint in my pocket when the instructor broke the monotony of his lecture by slapping his hands together and excitedly addressing the class.
“Okay, now we’re going to watch a video,” he announced. “It’ll cover the basics of hand washing, glove usage and personal hygiene.”
“Thank God.” I grumbled under my breath. The video was sure to be agonizing at worst and an insult to my intelligence at best, but at least it would make the time go faster. My classmates murmured excitedly while the instructor dimmed the lights and fiddled with the projector until it whirred to life. A cheerful little tune filled the room as the title sequence appeared on the pull-down screen, informing us that the following was legal property of ServSmart and to not be redistributed under penalty of law.
I looked on in half-lidded boredom as a community theater actor unconvincingly portraying a health inspector made a trip to a local eatery and reminded the brain dead employees that, no, handling food with bare unwashed hands after using the bathroom is not okay. After being told for the third time the proper way to put on a latex glove I zoned out and turned my attention to two uneven divots in the center of the table, bouncing a tiny imaginary sphere between them in an endless non-competitive game of Pong.
The monumental struggle between the seams of raw wood was nearing its climax when the instructor flicked the lights on, the harsh artificial illumination burning away the game ball while my pupils suddenly and painfully dilated. I cringed and looked up in annoyance as everyone at the table burst into conversation, sharing their favorite parts of the video with inexplicable glee.
“Wow, that was so good!” The voice of the increasingly unpleasant woman rose above the rest. “They must have gotten Steven Spielberg to shoot it HA HA HA HA!”
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they would pop out of my skull. With a sigh, I glanced at the clock, hoping that the film had killed at least five minutes.
8:28.
My body tensed as I rose in the chair. That can’t be right. Wasn’t that the time when the video started? I rubbed my eyes and mumbled a brief prayer that the clock would say something different the next time I looked up.
8:28.
I raised my eyebrows. Okay, so the clock’s broken. Not a big deal. Careful to not be seen doing so, I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and flipped it open under the table.
8:28.
A growing knot of tension developed in my gut, as though my stomach were collapsing in on itself. This has to be some kind of a joke, I reassured myself as my eyes darted around the room. The lecture was continuing as though everything were normal, a dozen smiling faces listening intently as the instructor reviewed everything that had been covered on the video in agonizing detail.
I swallowed hard and took one last look at the clock to make sure I hadn’t been seeing things. But before I could confirm the time I noticed a tiny spot of dark red developing in the center, growing with each passing second. After a moment it began to creep down the minute hand, the liquid curling around the black plastic before trickling off and collecting in the bottom of the clock. Before my eyes, the flow grew faster and faster until it was practically gushing, the viscous substance quickly filling the frame.
“Christ!” I shouted as I jumped to my feet and knocked my chair over. I stumbled backwards and pressed my back against a wall. “What the hell is that?!”
“Now Mark, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat,” the instructor asked as though I had simply stood up and stretched.
“Yeah, Mark,” the woman up front added. “If you’re a bad boy we might make your wear the dunce cap HA HA HA HA HA!”
“What is wrong with you people?!” I shouted over the laughter, my hand shaking in the clock’s direction. “Don’t any of you see this?”
“Okay, so, who can tell me the five things every hand washing station needs?” the instructor asked.
The class listed the items in unison, ignoring my panicked inquiry. I stared at them in disbelief for a second and was close to screaming to gain their attention when I saw that the clock had been completely filled with the liquid. Tiny cracks began to develop in the frame, allowing beads of crimson to seep through and drip to the floor. I looked on in horror as the pressure became too much for the glass, the face shattering and showering those nearby with a spray of tiny shining shards. The liquid splashed heavily onto the carpeting, splattering onto the same people who had their hair and skin embedded with glass just a moment ago. Despite this, the smiles never ceased, their crimson-speckled teeth kept proudly on display.
I clamped a hand over my mouth and gagged as the heavy smell of copper filled the air. The gushing continued stronger than ever, its splashes continually painting my classmates as they went about their lesson unaffected.
“This is insane,” I cried out as I pressed deeper into the wall and clawed my fingers against the rough stucco. “You people are fucking crazy!”
No response. I cursed again before pushing myself off of the wall and making a beeline for the door, striding unnoticed past the entire table and the instructor. I gripped the knob but found that no amount of strength would allow me to twist it even the smallest amount. My panic began to develop into full-blown terror as I pounded at the door with my fists, desperate to get the attention of anyone that might be on the other side.
“God damn it!” I shouted as I stomped my sole into the cheap wooden rectangle. “Let me out of here!”
The wood gave slightly under the force of the kick, spurring me to drive my foot into it again and again as though my life depended on me escaping the room. I heard the sound of splintering and gave the door a mighty final blow, at last knocking it off of its hinges and back onto its face. The relief I felt at gaining my freedom was dashed when what lay beyond the door came clear to me, a vision that overloaded my senses and drained my spirit.
Violent technicolor streaks stained the sky above, the insane hues pulsing like the beating of a dying heart. The ground before me was nothing more than a harsh charcoal wasteland that extended beyond what my eyes could see, littered with outcroppings of impossibly sharp rock. Bodies lay naked on the points, writhing and crying to one another. In the foreground a river of black ice snaked languidly through the nightmare landscape, frostbitten arms flailing above the surface as those trapped between the banks clawed at each other to keep their heads above water.
I staggered backwards, fell, and scuttled away from the door on my hands, my eyes wide and my breaths coming in rapid, shallow gulps. As I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing, flashes of memory forced their way into my thoughts. Scattered images came together as my panicked brain scrambled to make sense of them. I saw a flash of silver as the chef tripped. Experienced the chilling sensation as it slipped effortlessly into my gut. Felt my hands grow slick and warm as I pressed them against my stomach. Heard the cries and shouts of the staff as everything went black.
I rolled onto my hands and knees and vomited, my body shuddering violently as pathetic moans forced their way past my lips.
“Now, let’s review the food borne illnesses we’ve learned about so far.”
Through tear-blurred eyes I looked up to see the class continuing as normal.
“Who can tell me a symptom of Anisakis?”
“I know!” the woman up front joyfully cried out. “Those who come across Anisakis are forever plagued with the mummy’s curse ooooOOOoooo HA HA HA HA HA!”
Everyone in the room craned their necks back and cackled like madmen. The sound of bones cracking reverberated between my ears as jaws dislodged all around the room, mouths gaping like those of hungry snakes as laughs poured endlessly from them. The cries grew shrill and horrible and it wasn’t long until I could no longer hear the sound of my own screams.
