elionwyr | LJ Idol, Week 6: Food Memory

I am a haunter.

Since roughly 1993, I've been working in, on, and around haunted houses. More often than not, I'm one of the rare women on a build, which has instilled me a ridiculous amount of bravado. If the boys are doing it? By god, I will, too!

...Which is why I ended up eating a raw onion.

But. I digress.

The year was 2004. A hoard of haunters had descended upon Charlotte, NC to attend the first-ever Hauntcon. Sales were a little slow. Alcohol was flowing a little fast. And somewhere in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, some very silly people created a very silly 'secret society' called JENGA.

Ah, JENGA. Just Enough Nonsense to Get Attention...a humble goal, quickly achieved.

I was working for the convention and what little good sense I had told me to steer clear of JENGA. I knew a lot of the people involved - some were friends, some were past employers - but I wasn't there to party. I was there to work. And the person I was working for that weekend was less than amused by JENGA's antics.

Fortunately, some of those silly friends didn't care about my work ethic. One in particular, Liz, managed to hook her elbow in mine and walk me over to the foyer where the JENGA crowd was gathering the next night.

This isn't to say I didn't protest. Liz just didn't care. "It's fine. I promise. It's FINE."

"It looks like a frat party, Liz. I don't do crowds. I don't drink. I don't..."

"Trust me."

"Ummmm....dammit. Ok. What do I have to do?"

"Well, there's a small initiation..."

"Oh, HELL no."

"Shush! It's not so bad."

She sat me down with a handful of other initiates. I knew a few of them. And of course, they were all men.

I started considering my escape route.

And then one fellow stood up and started talking.

"Welcome to JENGA. Rule #1: You do NOT talk about JENGA. Rule #2: You Do! Not! talk about JENGA!" He laughed, and went on to talk about...well, frankly that whole part was a blur.

And then? There was an onion.

"OK! Here's what you have to do. You have to bite the onion and take a drink of alcohol. We'll give you a JENGA name. And then you're in."

Well. That sounded horrible then, and it sounds horrible now.

The first recruit took a huge bite of the onion, consuming half the dang thing in one crunch of his jaws. He immediately looked like he wanted to throw up. Someone handed him a bottle, instructing him to drink quickly. He did so, but it didn't look like it had helped very much.

And then it was my turn.

I cast a panicked look at Liz.

I took that onion in my hand.

I thought about all those men around me that had already done this.

I took a small cautious bite.

My bravado flared.

I said, "Oh, MAN, that's good!" And I took another small bite.

As the guys around me laughed, I took a hit of some vile liquor and forced myself to swallow as I handed the onion fragments to the next dubious-looking initiate.

That night won me the name of 'Two Scoops.' It won me some of the silliest nights I've spent with haunters. And to this day, every time I eat a bit of onion - cooked or raw - I always, always think about that ridiculous evening.

And it still makes me smile.