Tapeworm Removal Technician

16 ft. tapeworm, no problem. Sometimes you have to take care of business on your own.

In HS I worked at a restaurant, and the list of characters was something else. I’ve had every job imaginable a kid can have.  This was my first foray into the field of medicine. A medical battle against a vicious serpent. A buddy from the job, “T” and his family had recently visited his older brother in Guatemala. He was living pretty much living like everyone else did in the countryside. We had always heard the horror stories of tapeworms and all other manner of gnar gnar diseases and ailments. T returned with even more terrifying stories his brother had witnessed take other gringos down. Right away, another bro on the job, “D” seemed genuinely freaked out and damn near obsessed with the whole tapeworm thing. He couldn’t stop asking questions.

“If your brother comes back with a tapeworm, I can’t catch it, can I?” T’s response was typical. “You mean lasso it, and wrassle it out of his bunghole?” Laughter erupted, except for D. “Woah, hold on, that’s how they take it out?”   T and I made eye contact, both obviously thinking the same thing. I took over from there. “It’s the only way to remove it. Pills, nothing else works. Theres only one way to get rid of a tapeworm. It’s downright dangerous. Most doctors refuse to do it because it’s dangerous for patient and doctor. They can get up to 30 feet long, and if it bites you, you are F-U-K-T, FUKT. 

The only thing that can lure it out 100% of the time is a ham sandwich. No mayo or mustard, just bread and ham.”   D was buying every word of it. Later that day, T and I came up with a strategy. “The long con is always the best. We gotta set this s**t up tight.” For 17 y.o.’s, the long con means a week tops. Each day, T began to say he didn’t feel well, couldn’t get enough to eat and felt nauseous. It seemed like forever, but D Day finally arrived. 

T was a drama club dude, so he knew what to do. D and I were standing by the back door. Damn, even I was impressed when T walked in. Eyes all red and bleary like he’d been crying his balls off. 

“Dude, what’s wrong” D asked, sincere concern in his tone. Fighting back tears, “Let’s go to the lair, they’ll fire me if they find out.” The Lair was a secret spot in the big walk-in fridge.  Used mainly for our “bowling” league. “I just got back from the doctor. I’ve had a tapeworm growing inside me for months. Ever since we left Guatemala. Those a******s refuse to even take it out. WTF, it’s 16 ft. long, and they won’t do s**t!”  After a few silent bro hugs, we turned to D. D was white as a ghost, and severely freaked out.   

His rapid fire questions and anxiety only escalated, we knew we had to put him out of his misery soon. So, that very night, just after close, operation “Tapeworm Removal” was green-lit.

T announced he needed our help.  “In S. America they’ve got a foolproof way to solve the problem. It’s the only way. I wrote down all the steps, I need your guys help. Please, please. I’ll pay you.“ D was having none of it. "Dude, no way. I’m not getting near that. I’d rather die than catch the Tapeworm. Hell no, un uhh.”

“Okay, will you at least be the look out? We’re gonna have to do it in the Lair, but we can’t have some waitress barging in there. Please?” “Okay, but i’m staying 15 ft away.” T and I had prepped all the props earlier and hid em’ in a bucket. 

At almost 11 pm, we got to work.  We laid out all our surgical instruments on a big tray and donned plastic food handling gloves. With everybody in position, we were off and running. D manned the Lair door, whipping his head back and forth. T dropped his trousers. With a long work t-shirt on, D couldn’t see that I wasn’t really looking at T’s bare butt.

“Okay, we’ll only get once chance at this men. Lets make it count. Another bro in on the scam played nurse. Nurse, Ham Sandwich please.” He slaps it in my hand like a nurse to surgeon handoff.  D looked like he was gonna puke or pass out. Probably puke and then pass out. 

His eyes were huge, and I swear, his carotid artery was thumping with fear and adrenalin. We had taken a few pieces of long  fettuccine noodle, put something on it that looked like blood  and stashed it in the folds of T’s dropped khakis when D wasn’t watching. T and I had been choreographing this play for days. 

“It’s moving, I can feel it. Oh s**t. It’s totally moving. It can smell the ham.”  I dangled the ham sandwich back and forth. I could hear D at the door, all he could say was “fuk, fuk, fuk"  I began color commentating the progress.  “Okay, okay, I think its taking a peek, yep, it’s coming, it’s coming. Ohh s**t, no f*****g way. Ewwww. Tongs, stat, TONGS! Ohhh f**k no!”

 As T started to scream and squirm, "Hold still, hold still, OKAY, I got it. I got it!!” I picked up the long strands of bloody fettuccine noodles and joined T’s screaming. Shaking the tongs to give the appearance the beast was alive and still battling back.

I’ll never forget D’s face as looked back before fleeing, in fast motion. Road-Runner cartoon style. He was gone.  As we heard the back door slam, T and I finally broke character. “D’s left the building, c'mon.” 

He had passed the Manager, who had heard the screaming, and walked in at the absolute worst moment. Just as T was pulling up his pants, with me standing right behind him. T pulled up his pants, and with no explanation for the wide-eyed manager, we took off in hot pursuit. I dropped the tongs and beast near the managers feet. D didn’t stop running for a ¼ mile. It took us 30 minutes to convince him it wasn’t real, and he wasn’t gonna “catch the Tapeworm.”

Nobody’s ever hit me so hard in the bony part of my upper arm. I had it coming. In fact, I was grateful he didn’t blast me in the pie-hole and cost me a few chiclets. He didn’t find it funny. Until we were almost back to the job, even he realized, it WAS pretty damn funny. Man, that’s a quick turnaround. 

Upon our return, we had some splainin’ to do. We knew it was pointless. “Just a little prank. No harm, no foul. Nobody lost an eye. No anal penetration.”  Within days, it had gone the late 80�™s version of viral, in both of our HS’s, and every other franchise of the restaurant for 100 miles. Not exactly something you want to be famous for. “You’re the tapeworm guy!” Then again, I’ll take it. It’s a lot better than most of the s**t we could’ve been famous for. Many more twisted, true tales to come. Until then, Stay Frosty, Stay Aerodynamic, and don’t catch the Tapeworm.