Totally Trapped Attempting to Toss Tomatoes

They push. I push back. It's thirty to one. We are all feeling desperate to gain ground. Every inch is recognized. Every inch appreciated. I spread my feet and lean forward for a stronger position. My palms are flat against the sun warmed metal. My arms are flexed, but my hands are only inches from my chest. My back is aching from the strain. If I lose, I could be easily be crushed by approaching rubber. I'm looking left and right, all the while pushing with everything I have. I can't feel angry at those pushing me forward. They are only trying to gain space to breath more easily. The tire is a coming. I crinkle my toes and try to slide my feet back, if only a centimeter. There are pieces of rotten tomatoes roasting in the sun. They are everywhere. (They're in my raccoon wounds!!!) In my hair, on my face, between my toes, and on the truck. Little pieces of rotten fodder.

For a moment, I consider releasing a hand to snatch at a tomato. I momentarily envision grabbing the semi-fermented fruit as I'm simultaneously pushed helplessly under the truck. Needless to say (or maybe not if you know me better than most) I didn't go for the tomato.

I guess your next question is how did I end up so close to the truck, right? I had been in a nice, tight spot with a comfortable 3 or 4 feet between myself and the path of the tomato bearing dump truck when suddenly the girl who had been standing behind me fell. La Tomatina is a grand festival in Buñol. The last Wednesday in August, people from around the world come together to take part in the largest food fight they've ever seen. It's ultimately a combination of a lot of alcohol, not a lot of sleep, a lot of heat, and a lot of people in not a lot of space. There are times where you struggle to stand straight because so many people are pressed against you. I saw several people break down, flailing about to get free from the unforgivingly dense crowd.

That being said, this girl fell unconscious, and her ailment could have been any number of things, heat stroke being my main concern. I cleared a path for her, leaving my place on the secure sidewalk and helped bring her to the truck, where I was able to ensure that she was going to get medical attention. The problem with that was when it was time to return to the side, there was nowhere to go.

So, I'm now inches from a dump truck, pressing against the sides as hard as I can to avoid being pushed under by the people behind me having trouble breathing. I thought of my tombstone: Survived OIF/OEF but not La Tomatina. I smiled through a clenched jaw. Then I laughed, a quick, impulsive, high pitched, nervous laugh. I found my laugh so odd that I laughed even harder. The truck rolled by, and as it did, I was nearly pushed to the ground by the hordes of people gasping for air behind me.

The fight continued. I was hit in the head once, twice, three times, but now I was completely surrounded by bodies. There was an elbow in my breast. I asked the woman to my right if she could manage to shift her weight if only a little to alleviate the pain.

Suddenly the crowed surged back like the tide crashing to shore, guided by gravity. I was pulled with them. Then front. Then left. Then back again. My chin was digging mercilessly into a young man's shoulder, but I couldn't move it. Someone stepped on my left flip flop as the throng moved back again.

Is everyone trying to follow the last tomato truck?

Now, with my left foot bare, I searched with my toes for my sandal.

OOH! I got it!

The crowd moved left.

Damn, I lost it.....

Wait! There it is again!

The crowd moved forward.

I guess not.

A woman appeared in front of me. A frantic apparition. She was crying, screaming, flailing her arms this way and that. Her elbow connected with a faceless body, her hand hit another.

"I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!! LET ME OUT! I CAN'T BREATHE!!!!!"

Her voice faded into the cacophony of distressed non lethal combatants. A man shot a glance at me. Our eyes connected. His face was painted crimson. He had an unnaturally crooked nose.

How incredibly uncomfortable the next few minutes were. I found myself taking slow, shallow breaths because the pressure on my chest and back was so great that I couldn't expand my lungs but a little at a time.

"Survived OIF/OEF but not La Tomatina."

And then a mortar.

Wait. A mortar?

I flinched as the sound resonated in the crowded streets.

Instantly the pressure was lifted. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. Tomatoes continued to fly through the air after the fight "ended," but the intensity took a skydive in a matter of seconds. I quickly scanned the streets for my rogue flip flop, but when I was sure I had walked past the place where I lost it, I settled for what felt like a men's size 10. Royal blue. Awkward.

I worked my way out of the labyrinth, wading through ankle deep gazpacho. Everything in sight had a red tint to it. The air reeked of vinegar, sweat, and vomit. Or maybe it just smelled of 14,000 people throwing over 25,000lbs of rotten tomatoes for an hour on the last Wednesday in August. I laughed randomly as I was hit in the shoulder by a flying camiseta. I tossed it across the street at an unsuspecting blond.

SMACK!

A girl next to me was hit in the head with a sandal.

Anything that was loose and able to be picked up was fair game. Soaked hats, towels, shoes, even pieces of tomatoes that clung to the sweaty folks heading towards the locals with hoses. Even from those heading away from the foul smelling tomato sauce covered streets.

I moment later I found myself jumping around, waving my arms at a twelve year old girl, trying to entice her to PLEASE hose me off with her garden hose. I couldn't help but laugh at myself. I flew to Spain for a FOOD FIGHT! I survived OIF/OEF AND La Tomatina! However, I've got a bone to pick with a greasy pole, a ham, and 25,000 lbs of tomatoes.

Watch out Buñol.

Next year, you may rest, but La Tomatina 2012, here I come!