The day before Thanksgiving, no less. What sort of terrible irony is this?
  1. "It had to be the nachos. HAD TO BE. There is no other common denominator."
  2. Email sent at 6:30 a.m., after first round of nausea: "Hi all, I'll be working from home the first part of the day due to food poisoning. I plan to come in around noon."
  3. "My mom just texted me a bunch of instructions on how to treat food poisoning."
  4. A: "I almost passed out walking upstairs." M: "Okay, how about we stay down here from now on."
  5. "We are never eating at [restaurant's name] ever again."
  6. "They've killed us." M, as he walks up to the house with a bag of Gatorade, face hardened like an international spy.
  7. Email sent at 10:01 a.m., approximately 3.5 hours later: "An update: unfortunately, I won't make it in today. I'll be taking the day off."
  8. "I hate [restaurant's name]. I hate it so much."