Today was the band barbecue, a day full of laughter, friends, and cooking. Last year, I was on grill-bun duty, toasting the buns on the top rack of the grill, but this year I decided to upgrade myself to full on grill duty—cooking and everything. I was paired with my friend Noah and we were kind of a tag-team. But about half an hour in, Noah’s eyes freaked out and were like LET’S GET ALL RED AND WATERY. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to face the grill so that smoke blew IN our faces, but it was too late already.
With Noah down, I had to take over, full on, asthma and all. After about an hour of inhaling smoke, I regretted my decision of becoming the grillmister. Thank god the line for food died down, so I could slow my cooking and eventually stop. The smoke was too much, and I also almost caught on fire during a patty-flipping catastrophe, but I had fun, regardless.
Now, 7 hours later, I STILL reek of barbecue smoke.
Oh the irony, the pescetarian smelling like burnt meat.