Dill.
I never liked dill. Ok, so far that's nothing special. But a couple of years ago the dill's wrath really turned on me.

I was planning a holiday in France and needed cash. Only job I could find was in a cucumber factory - I had to put a handful of dill in every jar that came along on the conveyor belt. Thousands of jars an hour. The smell was disgusting. On the last day before my holidays I just couldn't stand it anymore, the stink made me sick. So I thought "fuck the jars, I gotta get out of here", went outside, sat down and started puking.

What I didn't know was that the pile of pallets I was sitting on was exactly the place where the fresh jars were delivered to.

I didn't hear the fork lift coming because I was busy puking.

The driver couldn't see me because he had two thousand jars right in front of his face. Which he unloaded straight onto my lap.

If he hadn't heard me screaming I'd be dead now.

Needless to say the holidays had to be cancelled. Fucking dill, eh? Today I can still identify the tiniest amount of the devilish ingredient in any dish, rendering it literally inedible for me.
( account88888 former cynic, converted to kindness, Mon 12 Jul 2004, 19:08, Reply)