Chew

The other day a person I work with told me his son's breakfast is typically, "A Dew and a chew," meaning a can of Mountain Dew and a portion of smokeless tobacco. This must be the American Medical Association's definition of an unhealthy meal. But the conversation sparked a memory in me. Once, only once, I tried chew. I was probably 19 years old and visiting a newly married friend of mine in her apartment in White Bear Lake. We three were sitting on the floor together talking. I sat on the floor a lot back then. I don't know why we didn't use the furniture. He was using chew. I can't remember his name anymore. I said I'd like to try it. He reluctantly gave me a piece. He might have thought I was bluffing. He told me I wouldn't like it. I put it between my cheek and my gum and was waiting for something to happen. He started yelling at me, "Don't swallow! Don't swallow!" Suddenly I felt myself lifted from the floor by the armpits. He manhandled me into the bathroom. He pushed my head over the toilet and yelled at me to spit it out. So I spit it out. He scared the heck out of me. I am not used to being lifted and pushed around like that. That was the extent of my experience with smokeless tobacco - fast, furious, and not that much fun.