In This Corner, “The Iron Stomach!”

I normally don’t talk about work here, but I think this one’s worth mentioning. There’s a guy at my company who deserves the nickname “The Iron Stomach”, or at least “Goatboy”, since he can’t stand spicy food. Here’s what I mean:

Breakfast: Lime yogurt.
Snack: Big bowl of olives. (Half an hour later he finds that the olives didn’t work out too well, so he decides to cram down 3 or 4 chocolate candy bars to, you know, clean up his stomach a bit.)
Lunch: Pastrami Sandwich and Bowl of Ice Cream.

(I’ll not risk taking a peek at the dinner table.)

As you can see from the menu, he eats just about anything, in just about any combination. In fact, the menu I listed here is only today’s menu. As sick as this sounds, this is actually the norm.

Here’s another example: a few days ago he came in with a big bowl of fried plantains (platanos maduros) which he had for breakfast. For lunch, he had ice cream, which isn’t uncommon, especially when it’s accompanied by chicken wings, pizza, and Thai food.

All at the same time.

Of course, between meals he has to hold himself over with chips, twinkies, and cheese bread. And if something in his stomach starts acting up, it’s just a matter of cramming more stuff down his throat — “sweedish” fish, chocolates, fruits, coffee, soda, chicken, pepperoni, salami, bread, muffins, cheese — even if it means pushing it down with his fist. That way, whatever’s causing the problem will simply be pushed out. (“Mental picture! Mental picture!“)

Food aside, here’s what really makes me sick: the guy’s thin. He’ll eat and eat and eat, and he won’t gain an ounce. Daing it! Why did I have to get stuck with the fat genes?!

*sigh* Then again, I can take comfort in the fact that unlike him, and like most Americans, I’m both pleasantly plump — and famine-proof.