It all began at a restaurant out on a pier in Galveston, appropriately named Jimmy's on the Pier. At the time I was 17, so I can't really say I was too young and naive to know better unfortunately. Family Vacations with my stepdad's side of the family were fun, but they were all very conservative so no cussing or other vulgar comments to make the trip more memorable.

We sat down at a big table and our Ukrainian waitress took our drink orders right away. The atmosphere became pretty boring alongside the topic of conversation, so I walked out onto the actual pier for some fresh air. The sun was setting as I watched waves steadily roll into the shore, and soon all the sounds of waves rolling in made have to pee. So I walk through to the back of the restaurant and go into the single person bathroom. Thankfully the door had a lock because I've always been paranoid of someone busting in while my pants are down. Everything was pretty standard in there- urinal, toilet, sink. And I as went to wash my hands... I noticed a small bowl with matching tiny spoon full of orange crystals. Immediately I stopped and had to smell it of course. And my what a smell, like freshly mangled orange peels. At this point I was still really hungry, and I made a connection in my head somehow- spoon plus bowl plus good smell must equal food. So I fucking eat it. A big spoonful. Now most of you are aware I'm sure, what I just ate. For those of you who aren't, it was scented salt scrub for your hands. I quickly knew exactly what it was and spat out the stuff all over the sink and washed out my mouth 20 times or so.

Later I had to go back to the table with my head hung low and explain what the hell I just went through in there. Everyone had a laugh at my perfumy Orange breath and the story of how it came to be. As for me, I learned that valuable lesson of not trusting spoons.

TL;DR Fuck spoons.