The afternoon seemed innocent enough. There I was, sitting in some shady Chinese food takeout place, waiting to, uh, take out my Chinese food. I sat there, happily staring at the floor, trying to avoid the usual awkwardness that comes with catching a cook or cashier in the eye and spending the remainder of the fifteen minute wait avoiding doing that again.
Casual, timed eye-darts across the loosely-termed “restaurant” would suffice to let me know when my shitty food was ready. I gazed to my right, ostensibly at a hot tea station, trying to see if my bag was on the counter from the corner of my eye. It wasn’t. I continued staring at the floor, or alternatively, pretending that I had something important to do on my cellphone. In reality, I was just turning it on and off and acting like it was a work-related endeavor. Anything to avoid those awkward locked glances between customer and clerk.
A few minutes pass, and it’s time to glance up again. This time, I stare straight ahead at the half-tiled peach sheetrock on the other side of the restaurant.
That’s when it happened. What was only meant to be a segue into a short peek at the counter for my food bag turned into…something else. Something so much more important than Chinese food.
It was…the original “Choking Victim” safety poster. Shaper of dreams, object of my desire, bane of my existence, suitable for fucking framing. I’ve spent most of my life pining for one of these posters, and I really have no idea why. I’m honestly not the type of person who actively hunts for ironic art. It’s got nothing to do with that. I just like the poster.
You can’t see it clearly in the picture above, but surely, you have seen it. Unless you’re like, twelve-years-old. The original “Choking Victim” poster both intrigued and frightened me as a child, with its chilling illustrations of a poor guy putting forth his best “adamantly upset” face while turning a deep shade of indigo in response to getting a fish bone caught in his throat. I didn’t understand the slight exaggerations of these drawings when I was young, and every time my eyes met with this poster, I spent the rest of the week eating ridiculously carefully.
I loved that poster. I looked forward to seeing it. Then, at some point many years ago, a different style of “Choking Victim” poster made its debut — one that had a serious lack of the crazy-faced mouth-agape choking dude. I hated this new poster. Absolutely hated it. It had no charm and it had no style.
At first, I only spotted the criminally underwhelming new poster at select restaurants and takeout joints. Over time, it became the standard. These days, it’s downright rare to find the original “Choking Victim” poster anywhere. Through the years, I’ve witnessed even the most unkempt eateries manage to swap ‘em out for the new ones. Every time that happens, a piece of me dies.
For several years, I’ve carried the idea that I will someday muster the courage to either steal or make an offer on one of the original posters before it’s too late. Clocks are ticking. It’s only a matter of time before the “Choking Victim” poster of my youth exists without a single relic, and if I don’t make good on my personal vow to own one before that happens, I swear, I’ll strap bombs to my chest and turn my death into news.
I’ve gotta go back to that Chinese takeout place. I’ve gotta do it before the inevitable happens. Keeping one of our apartment walls bare in tribute to the original “Choking Victim” poster simply isn’t enough. To effect change, there must be action.
Will I succeed? If you don’t see my name attached to any “exploding man” newscasts…I just might. Pray for me. Clasped hands and all. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Choking Victim. Amen.
Sigh.
Posted by Matt. E-mail me!
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Hey, I have a framed heimlich placemat!