Parking a tiger

I have spent some time recently in a rather secure building - one of those places where security guards roam around seemingly at random and throw you out of various rooms if you are spotted using a mobile phone for instance.

One of the rules is that you can't eat or drink in the place, but the air conditioning is ferocious, so one tends to dry out very quickly. There are water sensors built into the floor, so if you do take a bottle of water inside and it spills, you are in the poo. The guards have a wonderful habit of poking around constantly looking for food and drinks - even a Chuppa Chup is beyond the pale.

Which brings me to lunch. Or the fact that I almost brought up lunch.

Our crew decided this week to try somewhere new for lunch, so we visited a pie shop. I had a Tiger, which is a pie with mash, mushy peas and gravy on top. I like a Tiger from time to time, but usually at 2am down at Harrys's at Wooloomoolo. Having one at lunchtime on a hot day, some distance from a Frigate, is just too wierd.

The Tiger did not agree with my insides. I was talking to (actually yelling at - the place is really noisy) one of the guys when I did a tremendous burp, and the Tiger came decidedly close to ending up on the floor.

Yes, it would have given new meaning to "parking a tiger".

I wonder what security would have made of that? The rules say a lot about not ingesting food and water, but nothing about regurgitating it.