My experience with Pepto-Bismol’s #PinkRelief all began almost 20 years ago. We were state university kids seeking one last all night adventure before the Fall semester ended. Our destination?…New York City. Little did I know I would also discover a lifelong hero.
Somehow five of us—including two of my roommates as well as a couple of pretty co-eds who inexplicably agreed to join us—squeezed into my sky blue 1985 Japanese econobox. Despite the mind-numbing traffic crawl of the Cross Bronx Expressway along with the needle-in-a-haystack search for parking in Manhattan, we arrived relatively unscathed in Little Italy. We emerged from the tight confines of the car to a city aglow with Christmas lights. Famished from the ride, we sought out sustenance.
We started with pizza which included an assortment of toppings. Then we meandered to Chinatown. Proximity held sway in our next destination choice. More importantly, cute pictures of ducks on a hole-in-the-wall restaurant’s sign made an impact. You see, one of the aforementioned pretty co-eds simply loved ducks. In fact, she had a collection of duck plush toys which she boasted about to one of my roommates who was smitten with her. Naturally, we ventured in. Unfortunately for us, the waiter only spoke Chinese. Nonetheless, we ordered what we guessed to be a sampler platter. Growing up, I had always been a picky eater. But on this night, I opted to make a culinary breakthrough. I’m not quite sure what I ate, but I know ample amounts of duck sauce made it taste better.
Next up we strolled to the East Village. St. Mark’s Place was buzzing with activity. We visited several art shops, checked out street artists, and caught a live band’s performance in a rock club. After the show, someone in the crowd insisted we go to the “best fresh donut place ever” in town. We forged ahead. Much like the little restaurant with the cute duck sign in Chinatown, this establishment was also of the hole-in-the-wall ilk. Yet there was a fairly sizable line which snaked around the corner. Unwilling to miss out on a memorable donut experience, we patiently waited on line. As fate would have it, there was a newly opened organic beef jerky shop distributing free samples on the same block. Sticking to my anti-picky eater bravado, I indulged in more than one flavor. I even received a few high fives from strangers impressed with my carefree swagger. It felt good. I was intoxicated by the outpouring of love. Emboldened even. I was, in fact, the man.
We made it to the donut place and I ordered a sack of their deep fried powdered sugar covered finest. Feeling immortal, I consumed nearly half the bag as we headed back to my car. It was a quick return trip to the University. When we approached campus a subtle yet disturbing rumble in my tummy made its presence known to me. Much to the chagrin of my roommates, I immediately dropped off the lovely co-eds back to their own dorm. My buddies, after landing several verbal punches my way, grudgingly retired to their rooms. As for me, I had a date with destiny of the gastrointestinal kind.
I sat and held onto the porcelain throne with a white knuckled grip unleashing wave after wave of unbridled fury similar to the Saturn V Moon rocket blasting off into space. One hour later, I exited a humbled exhausted mess. The sunrise cast a ray of light through the suite window. Upon a table I could see a pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol along with a note from one of my roommates.
“Sometimes being the man comes with a price. Feel better my friend.”
And I did thanks to good-natured advice as well as a hero in pink.
In the present, as a husband and a father, I try to be aware of my limits. Even so, with the holiday season in full swing, it’s smart to keep help close at hand.
The good folks at Pepto-Bismol sent me free product samples and compensated me for writing about my experiences in this post. My opinions are my own.
