Tapeworm Removal Technician

Davey fully believed I was about to remove a fierce, 16 foot tapeworm from the tailpipe of our Bro, Trevor. Armed only with tongs and a ham sandwich, it was about to get nutty.

In High School I worked at a restaurant a few miles from home.  The long list of crazy characters is like no other place of employment in American life.  Restaurants are a fun place for a young lad to work.  I’ve had every job a young man can have.  This was my first foray into the field of medicine.  A medical battle against a vicious serpent.  When we weren’t celebrating LSD Friday’s, aka Fry-Day, we let loose our Trickster Hooliganism frequently at this job.  Why we thought a busy kitchen during the Friday evening rush was the perfect place to get all lysergic, I don’t recall.  It’s probably as simple as we thought everything went well with altered states. 

I worked there for several years, even lost a couple fingers, well, almost lost.  My mangled digits that remain attest to how safety equipment and procedures matter not when a profit deadline is involved.  “If I use that machine without the safety guard, my fingers won’t last 5 minutes,” my words 3 minutes before I donated my fingers to the pie-making Gods. 

Yanking my mangled paw out, splashed the wall, and unfortunate co-workers with blood, like a bad B-Movie.  A story for another time.  In Utah you cannot sue an employer for negligence.  A couple months, few hundred dollars weekly from Workman’s Compensation is the only remuneration a poor mangled f****r can hope for.  “You can still make a fist, kind of, c’mon son, you’ll be fine,” the state’s representative consoled. Rant transmission complete.  Back to the serpent. 

Trevor was a buddy in the kitchen.  Eccentric, read several books per week, always in some alternate universe, even before we ingested narcotics regularly.  He wore these little round glasses, a bowl haircut and looked like he belonged in some 60’s San Francisco rock band.  His older brother had just completed a Mormon Mission to Guatemala.  The entire family went down to meet him, spend a week, and bring him home.  He was living pretty rough in the countryside.  Not much different from the extremely impoverished villagers in the small towns he lived and preached. We always heard horror stories of tapeworms and all manner of gnar gnar diseases the occasional gringo Missionary came home with. 

I’m not sure if they were stories or urban legends.  Either way, they freaked me out.  Trevor returned with even more terrifying medical maladies his brother had witnessed take other gringos down.  Immediately, another Bro on the job, Davey, seemed genuinely panicked.  Davey became obsessed with the whole tapeworm thing.  He couldn’t stop asking Trevor questions. I’m not convinced Trevor or his older brother had a clue what they were talking about, but it made for some grotesquely awesome storytelling. 

“So, umm, Trevor, if your brother comes back with a tapeworm, can I catch it?  Is it contagious?” Davey asked, imagination running wild. Davey’s look of grim concern had already triggered the Trickster lightbulb above my meathead.  Trevor’s answer was classic Trevor.  “Catch it?  You mean lasso it, like wrassle it out of his bunghole?”  Trevor and I laughing at the visual.  Davey wasn’t laughing.  “Woah, hold on.  Is that how they get it out?  How do they get out?”  Trevor gave me “the look.”  He now also had the Trickster lightbulb above his dome.  We nodded in silent conspiracy. We knew a golden opportunity when we saw it.  This was back when you executed whatever bizarro scheme entered your active imagination.  A DIY hooligan playbook that involved carrying out whatever mischievous s**t crossed your small-town bored mind. 

We had video games at home. That is what you did when you were snowed in.  I took the handoff from Trevor.  “Yeah Davey, it’s the only way to remove it.  Pills, surgery, nothing works.  There is only one way to get rid of a tapeworm.  The official name: “Guatemalan Gicanticus Maximus Tapeworm.  It’s f*****g dangerous too.  Medical people die all the time. Most doctors in North America refuse to do the procedure.  You gotta go to some voodoo witchdoctor in New Orleans and s**t.”  With each passing bullshit sentence Davey became more and more upset.  I didn’t need to set the hook.  He had already swallowed it. 

“They can get up to 32 feet long.  Fangs like a f*****g doberman, but this serpent would shred a doberman, and not even leave behind the bones.  If it gets hold of you, you are F-U-K-T, FUKT!  That’s why so many doctors in South American countries are missing a pinky or ring finger.  They grab it, and it winds around and snatches their other fingers.  Bite force stronger than an alligator.”  Wanting to clarify if I was taking him for a ride or not, he offered some objection.  “Bullshit!  No worm can take fingers off or eat a whole dog.”   Trevor jumped in.  “Come here.  Come on.  He dragged Davey over to the phone hanging on the wall in the break room.  

“Wait, what are you doing?” Davey asked.  “Calling my brother.  Or my Mom, if she answers.  His doctor in Guatemala was missing two fingers. The tapeworm got em’ and still got away. That patient didn’t make it. You’ll see, hold on, wait right there.”  Davey had heard enough.  He disconnected the call.  “Okay. Jeez, I believe you.  I don’t need to talk to them.  Your Mom wouldn’t lie.”  

I continued.  “The monster ate that Doctors fingers and escaped back up the poop chute, the patient s**t out the fingers with the wedding ring still attached.”  “At least he got his ring back,” Trevor added.  Davey’s furrowed brow and yellowish green hue said it all.  Nightmares of the tapeworm were in his near future.  The exchange ended when Davey’s Mom arrived to pick him up out back.  After a good laugh, Trevor and I almost felt bad.  For a minute.  “Matty, I’ve known Davey since 1st grade. He was always the most gullible kid in school.  You could get him to believe anything.  If a second person verified it, there is nothing Davey wouldn’t believe.  Believe, then suffer anxiety because of it.  I stopped f*****g with him years ago.  Guilt.  But, this?  This is too good.  He needs to be reminded, gullibility is a trait that guarantees this dark cruel world will devour you and s**t you on the sidewalk.”  Half joking, I asked, “So, it’s almost an altruistic, charitable mind-f**k?  Community service, kind of “after school special” dirty deed for the betterment of a buddy?”  “Dude, exactly.  And I swear, this is the last time.” 

We would’t see Davey until next Wednesday.  Giving us 5 days to scheme and plot.  “Ok Trevor, you see Davey every day.  You keep watering the seed.  Keep it on his mind.”  “Done.”  We schemed a few specifics for the big day, getting a real kick out of it.  Days later, when Davey walked in the backdoor at work, it was the first thing out of his mouth.  “So, can they get the tapeworm to come out the mouth?  To grab it?  Will it break if you pull it?”   “The mouth?  Oh no, it’s not the mouth they lure that evil b*****d out. It’s the bunghole!  Bunghole or bust.  This thing lives and thrives in the digestive tract, closer to the tailpipe than the talk-hole.”  

He looked off in the distance, wheels turning, pondering the updated information.  “Yeah, okay.  That makes total sense.  So, how do they get it out of the butthole?”  “Davey, are you messing with me?  You don’t know this?”  “No, dude, no, I swear.”  “Okay D-Bone. Okay.” 

Trevor waked in the backdoor.  Eyes all red and bleary, as if he had been crying his balls off.  “Dude, what’s wrong?”  He turned and winked at me.  Before that, I thought something was majorly wrong.  It was part of the act. He had prepped himself outside after hearing me slathering on the BS from outside.  Fighting back tears, Trevor rolled.  “Not here. Let’s go back to the Lair.  They’ll f****n’ fire me if they find out.”  Davey looked at me with deep concern for his longtime buddy.  We followed Trevor to the walk-in refrigerator. 

We had a little spot hollowed out in the back left corner. Hidden behind a wall of boxes.  Used regularly for our bowling league.  Smoking bowls and doogers (cigs) and blowing it directly into the outgoing fan.  “I just got back from the doctor,” Trevor says with tears welling up in his eyes.  Holy s**t, this kid is good. I had no idea Trevor was a drama club/theater regular and took the craft seriously.  He went to Viewmont High School. Where Ted Bundy kidnapped and murdered our family friend’s daughter.  Deborah Kent in 1974.  An incident that haunted my childhood.  It destroyed her poor family. 

Trevor continued, “I’ve had a tapeworm ever since Guatemala.”  Davey gasped and knocked stuff over scrambling away from Trevor.  Davey covered his mouth and nose as Trevor spoke.  “Those a*****e doctors refuse to even take it out.  They are scared to even touch me.   What the f**k? They are supposed to be doctors!  It’s f*****g 16 feet long, and they won’t do s**t.  I saw the X-Ray thingy or whatever.  Gave me some overpriced pills.  That “might” work.  That’s all.”  

After a few silent bro hugs, we turned to Davey.  He was green in the gills. He looked simultaneously like the Exorcist girl and someone who is shitting their pants from having seen the Exorcist girl.  Every step Trevor took, Davey took 3 backwards.  Pelting Trevor with questions.  We knew we had to put Davey out of his misery soon.  Trevor announced he needed our help. 

“In South America, they have a foolproof way of solving the problem.  It’s the only way.  I wrote down all the steps.  Guys, I really need your help. Please, please.  I’ll pay you.” 

Davey was having none of it.  “Dude, no f*****g way!  I’m not getting near that thing, or your skanky bunghole.  I’d rather die than catch the tapeworm.  Hell no, un uhh.”  

“Okay, will you be the look-out at least?  We’re gonna have to do it in the Lair, but we can’t have some manager or waitress barging in here.  Please? If we don’t take it outta me now, this nasty f****r will be too big to battle soon.”  Davey agreed to Trevor’s plea for help, “Okay, but I’m staying at the door.”  

Trevor continued, “So, there’s only thing can lure the angry serpent out into the daylight.  And it  works 100% of the time.  It’s the tapeworm’s favorite food, by far.”  I knew whatever was coming was likely to be f*****g hilarious.  Trevor didn’t disappoint.  “Ham sandwich!  No mayo, mustard, cheese, nothing, just bread and ham.  White or wheat.  No fancy-pants pumpernickel or 7 grain or whatever.”  Trevor was trying to keep a straight face.  The specificity was comical.  Davey was buying it all.  Trevor and I had already prepped all the props the day before.  Our surgical kit.  Hiding them in a bucket. 

Weeknights the restaurant closed at 10pm.  By 11pm, only a few cooks, dishwasher, and the manager remained.  I took charge.  “Guys, Operation Tapeworm Removal Technician is on.  I studied some stuff at the library. You ready?” 

Trevor nodded grimly, Davey looked as if he were the dude about to have a 16 foot fanged serpent yanked out his arse.  Trevor and I made our way to the Lair.  Looking up to see Davey wearing elbow length pink dishwasher gloves, Trevor and I started laughing.  “Dude, Davey, gloves?”  “Trevor has touched everything in here, if you are gonna give me s**t, I’ll just bail now.”  “Chances are, you already have one growing inside you, taxing 1/2 of every morsel you devour, growing a foot per week,” I teased.  Before he could run or whine Trevor intervened.  “Davey, Matty is kidding, there is no way you have one.”  Only slightly reassuring Davey. 

Leaving the door partially ajar, Davey whipped his head back and forth. Watching the approach, then the procedure that was beginning.  On the shelf, a tray.  I began removing instruments from the bucket and placing them down one by one.  “I ran everything through the dishwasher twice. Sterilized.  Except the ham sandwich.”  

Trevor backed toward  me and dropped his pants.  His long t-shirt covering the fact his underwear was still up.  “Dude, how can you kneel there next to Trevor’s bare a*s?”  “D****t Davey, It’s not the first time I’ve seen a hairy butthole!  Plus, it’s quite muscular and delicious in appearance.  You must work out, big fella.”  “Dude, you are a freaking sicko Matty.”  “I think you protest a little too much Davey, honey.”  “Okay, okay, c’mon guys, this is life and death,” Trevor tried to refocus us.  “Okay men, we’ll only get one chance at this.  Davey, give me your gloves.”  He refused.  “If I lose a finger, it’s on you dude.”  Imitating a surgeon, “Ham sandwich please.”  Trevor slapped the sandwich into my extended hand. “Tongs,” Trevor firmly delivered the tongs, surgical nurse style. 

Davey didn’t know whether to puke or pass out.  Probably puke, then pass out. His eyes were wide and watery. High on fear and adrenaline.  Then he started complaining.  “Why the f**k is Trevor the patient and the nurse?”  

“Dude, really?  Seriously?  Because our nurse F*****G pussed out!  And is standing at the door, in pink gloves, whining!”  I said, highly irritated.  

“Davey, are we clear for take off?”  Trevor refocused us.  As Davey looked toward the approach, I dropped several large stained strands of fettuccine into the folds of Trevor’s downed khakis.  Red pasta sauce had been liberally applied to the long pasta strands.  Giving it the disgusting appearance of blood and gore.  I began waving the sandwich back and forth in front of the tailpipe entrance.  “Why do you have a tattoo with an arrow that says boner garage?”  Trevor and I giggled.  Another visual Davey didn’t appreciate in the slightest.  “I should have shaved this man jungle down here first.  F****n’ afro a*****e bro.  This is probably hairier than Magnum P.I.’s corn-hole.” Trevor and I were clearly the only ones having fun. 

“Ohh.  Ewww, it’s moving, I can feel it.  Oh s**t its totally moving.  It can smell the ham,” Trevor warned.  We could hear Davey at the door.  Softly, “f**k, f**k, f**k, fuuuck.”  Trevor and I suppressed laughter.  I began color commentating the progress.  Okay, okay, eww, it’s taking a peek.  HOLY F**K!  It has eyes, it has eyes.”  Davey whimpering, turned away.  “Davey, do not run.  How’s the door?” Davey only whimpered. 

“And teeth.  Holy s**t, look at those chompers.  Tongs, tongs, scissors, gimme the scissors.”  Trevor started to squirm, then scream.  “Hold still, hold still, it took a bite.  Ouch, ahhhh, no, I got it.”  Davey was shaking his head back and forth, rapid fire, “No, no, no.”   “Ouch, ahhh, it’s strong. It bit me,” I yelled.  Trevor screamed louder, “No, it bit me!  It’s biiiiting me!” Davey couldn’t even look.  We both expected Davey to have bolted by now.

What’s the point of this tripper theater production if the audience doesn’t watch.  “I picked up the strands of bloody, long fettuccine noodles with the tongs and began shaking them to give the appearance of movement. That the beast was battling for its life.  Trevor and I both screamed together.  “Davey, Davey,” he said.  As I snipped wildly with the scissors in my left, I secured the slimy serpent with the tongs in my right hand. 

I will never forget the last expression on Davey’s face as he looked up in pure horror, seeing the bloody serpent wrestling me and my tongs.  Trevor screaming toward the ceiling in agony.  It was all too much.  Apparently the noise was also.  Davey, now screaming himself, turned to run and slammed straight into Cheryl, the manager.  The very lady, 18 months after the Tapeworm, who would fall face-first, passing out, upon seeing my severed pinky and ring finger.  Dangling only by threads of skin. 

Wondering what the f**k was going on, she came to investigate the screams from the walk-in fridge.  Only to see me kneeling down behind Trevor, his drawers around his ankles, screaming bloody murder.  Davey, road-runner cartoon style, in fast motion, kept on fleeing.  We heard the back door slam.  “Davey has left the building,” I said, all but ignoring Cheryl’s presence.  Now standing behind Trevor, he pulled his pants up. “Thanks dude, that was awesome.”  With no explanation for the jaw-dropped, panic-eyed manager, he walked right by her and out.  She approached me, looking at the bloody fettuccine, scissors, tongs and ham sandwich on the floor.  “Hi,” I said as I sprinted after Davey and Trevor.  A common theme in these true tripper tales, laughing and stumbling, stumbling and laughing, either chasing or being chased.  Davey didn’t stop running for half a mile.  We went back and got in my Mom’s Honda Accord, to effect a more efficient search posse. 

It took awhile to find Davey.  We never thought he could have covered such distance so quickly.  I pulled alongside him as he kept walking.  He still hadn’t deduced it was all a prank.  From the passenger window, Trevor attempted to communicate.  “Davey, stop.  Stop and talk to us.”  “No, no, you stay the f**k away from me.  I probably already caught the tapeworm. Why did you need me?  Now you’ll have to cut that heinous thing out of my bum.”  Trevor and I roared with laughter, only angering Davey-boy further.  We thought he was pissed because he figured out we were only f*****g with him, but, we were wrong. 

“Dude, nothing is as heinous as your anus.  Hey, it was fettuccine and spag sauce.  There was no tapeworm.  Is no tapeworm.  Never was.  Not Trevor, not his brother, I doubt any of those stories are even real.  It was all trickster s**t buddy.  You really gotta stop being so gullible.”  He shot me a glance.  Rage in his eyes.  As if  I were somehow blaming it all on him.  He stopped, then sprinted toward the car.  Kicking wildly as I sped away, slowing a few feet later.  “Dude, don’t f*****g kick Mary’s truckster, you dick.”   He sprinted after us once again, angrily, lashing out.

“Dude, let me out.  I’ll talk him down.  Walk him back.  You don’t wanna be around until he chills a bit.”  I just looked at him, wondering why I was suddenly the only a*****e.  Probably because it was truer than I would like to admit.  

Old Davey didn’t find it funny then, nor at anytime since.  Ever.  He wouldn’t even discuss it with me.  He never really warmed to me after that night.  I felt bad about that.  Trevor made the mistake of telling work and school people about Operation Tapeworm.  Davey didn’t appreciate that much.  When I returned to work, Cheryl was standing outside the backdoor.  Pacing, like an angry, worried Mother.  We had some ‘splaining to do. 

I knew explanation was pointless.  I opted for humor.  Not sure if she had any sense of humor. She had never displayed one previous to that night.  She just gave you that expressionless, albacore stare.  Less so than any humanoid I had ever known.  

She approached as I exited the car.  “Matty!” 

 “It was just a little prank.  A killer tapeworm that needed removal.  No harm, no foul.  Nobody lost an eye.  No anal penetration.  Nothing non-consensual at least.”  She just stared at me. Silent.  Within days it went the 80’s version of viral.  Both of our High Schools.  Every franchise location of our restaurant for 100 miles.  Not something you want to be famous for. “You’re the butthole guy!”  Or “you’re the killer tapeworm dude.” 

It’s probably better than most of the s**t we could’ve been known for. Would be known for.  Much to my surprise, when I posted many of my tripper tales on social media decades later, people from my area often say, “That was you?  I always wondered if that story was true or not.”  I’ve heard that time and again when I posted the non-fiction stories we lived. 3/4 of our twisted tales could never be shared with most friends, relatives, or work associates.  However, I will share them with you, under the glorious veil of anonymity that tech now provides.  Please read on, there is plenty more where that came from.  Thank You, Drive Through, and please, do not catch the tapeworm.