MY VIEW

I am one lucky man.

I dodged the bullet twice in two days.

Two of what I consider to be attempts at my existence were made. It was close, but I am here and fully able to function on a normal basis, or whatever basis it is that I function on.

I was thinking that perhaps someone thought I was an international spy. I looked over my shoulder for Putin after the second instance of near poisoning. Two different agents were deployed against me. The first time it was mushrooms. The second time was craftier, but also more noticeable. When the mushrooms didn’t work, the second attack came in the form of black olives.

On Friday afternoon, I went for a leisurely lunch at a local establishment that will remain nameless, because my investigation into this incident is ongoing. They had a wonderful looking creation for their “house” burger, with bacon, a couple different cheeses, bacon, burger pat- ties and more bacon. Maybe I shouldn’t be worried about being poisoned by mush- rooms? Yet, I’m terrified of them. It also included onions and mushrooms. In my world, onions are good. Mushrooms are evil.

From the time I was a young suspicious eater, I caught my mom red-handed sneaking mushrooms into the spaghetti sauce.

“You can’t taste them,” she tried to explain, upon interrogation.

I hit her with logic she just couldn’t handle: “Then why put them in there anyway?” We had eight kids, and I know that most were in my corner. This house was not democracy though. My dad liked them, so they were go- ing to be kept in the sauce. I did win the right to be able to pick them out though, which I considered a solid victory at a table where a certain fourth-grader who would do anything to not eat vegetables was required to eat whatever was put on his plate. I was having lunch with my daughter in the recent mushroom caper. This burg er that was put in front of me was a true thing of beauty. Did I tell you about all the bacon? Little did I know it would be used against me. I had strictly specified, perhaps eight times, upon ordering that: If I eat mushrooms, I could die. The waitress laughed.

Mushrooms are against my religion. I hate mushrooms. Sure, that’s only three times, but I’m known to repeat myself.

I dug into the burger and in my first bite my fight or flight response kicked in, mush- room style. I have a mush – room radar. I sensed one of those squishy pieces of fungus on my fork. My brow broke out in sweat, but I breathed a sigh of genuine relief, and went to work searching every nook and cranny of the bacon to diffuse this weapon. Never before has something so good – bacon – been used for de- livery of an attack against me. The waitress realized she had been defeated when she saw the pile of mushrooms – and nothing else – on my plate. She acknowledged who the victor was or apologized for putting them on the burger, depending on how you look at it.

The following evening, my wife and I went out for dinner, and my senses were on high alert. I made sure I ordered a simple dinner that couldn’t be tampered with. A sneak attack had apparently been planned. I was trying to offset the effects of all that bacon and cheese on my cardiovascular system, so I ordered a salad. I ordered a steak too, but I went healthy on course one. What could go wrong with ranch dressing, shredded cheese and lettuce? I’ll tell you what could go wrong: Olives. They struck a blow on bite number one, and I almost bailed on the rest, but I was not going to let “them” get the best of me. I sent that bowl empty, save for the pile of olives they intended to infuse into my system. I even gave back the one that got into my mouth, fouling it to the point I had to “rinse it out” with Miller Lite, which is one of the antidotes against olive poisoning.

It was a scary couple days, but I persevered and am certainly on high alert. What doesn’t kill you, as they say, makes you stronger.