TIFU by causing mass panic and shutting down the circus

This didn’t happen today—this was when I was around 8 or 9—but it’s lived rent-free in my head ever since.

My family took me to the circus. Big deal at the time—we didn’t go to many events like that. I remember the smells: popcorn, animals, sugar. The lights were wild, the music was loud, and everything felt kind of overwhelming, but exciting.

At some point during the show, I leaned over and told my mom I didn’t feel good. She barely looked at me and said something like, “You’ve had too much junk. Sit back and enjoy the show.”

About ten seconds later, I unleashed a projectile vomit so violent it hit the back of my little brother’s head and then splashed across several people sitting in front of us. I threw up again. Then again. I basically turned into a geyser of regret. People started screaming, jumping up, trying to dodge the splash zone. I just kept going.

Then the real chaos started. The people I hit scrambled out of their seats so fast that others nearby assumed something awful was happening. They jumped up too. It spread like a ripple—within seconds, people all across the arena were on their feet, panicking, heading toward the exits. It honestly looked like someone had pulled a fire alarm or yelled “gun.” But nope. Just me, and a stomach full of circus snacks.

Meanwhile, my mom was trying to cut through the chaos to get my brother and me to the bathroom. He was drenched. I was still vomiting. Everything was loud and blurry, and I remember sitting there feeling both stunned and completely empty, like I was in the eye of some horrible storm I caused.

The car ride home wasn’t much better. I kept throwing up into a McDonald’s paper bag until the bottom gave out and it dumped onto my lap. My aunt, who was visiting from out of state, just looked over and said, “Glad it’s not my rental,” and rolled down the window. That was pretty much the only thing anyone said the whole ride.

By the time we got home, my brother and I were both soaked in puke and reeked like sour milk and cotton candy death.

To this day—circus, Disney on Ice, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, even David Copperfield—I get sick. Every single time. Even if I prep for it, even if I feel fine before. Something about live shows just triggers it. The lights, the sounds, the crowd—I don’t know. I’ve always wondered why it happens and why it’s so violent. Maybe it’s just some strange psychosomatic trauma response.

Either way, this was the first in a long history of public puking incidents I’d really rather forget. But here we are.

TL;DR:
Told my mom I was sick at the circus, she didn’t believe me, and I ended up projectile vomiting over several rows of people—causing mass panic, a full arena evacuation, and lifelong trauma tied to live performances.