How I embarrassed the life INTO my colleague

One story from my Minneapolis adventures cannot be overlooked: I (literally) saved my colleague's life by embarrassing the heck out of her.

On Saturday of the conference, something happened that's never happened in my 10 years of helping administer this event: the RNA staff got a break. We shipped the attendees off on tour buses to the Minnesota Hindu temple (under the leadership of our boss), and then had an hour to kill while we waited for the hotel staff to flip the ballroom setup from meeting space to banquet/silent auction space (at which point we had more work to do).

With time to spare and hungry bellies, we opted to eat lunch at the recommended local joint, "Hell's Kitchen" (not associated with the TV show). When our food arrived, we all dug in. My colleague, Michelle had ordered the bison burger, which turned out to be large and in charge. You could say that first bite was a doozy.

My other colleagues, Amy & Katie, were happily eating their lunches—as was I—when all of the sudden Michelle started to make hand and facial gestures. First, she nodded her head as if to say, "That's odd." Then she raised her hand in what I call a "Oh come on now!" pose. And then her face turned five shades of deepening red, and she grasped the wood table. I interpreted that to be, "I'm in trouble!"

When we asked her if she was okay, Michelle didn't respond (she was busy doing all the gesturing and panicking). After several seconds, something in me sprung into action. Heart racing, I hopped out of my chair and I think stood for a moment next to Michelle wondering what to do. My first thought was: "Pound her back!"

And then that didn't seem right. Then my emergency-cluttered thoughts screamed, "Heimlich!" I felt myself move toward her and then I hesitated. Suddenly, I didn't want to screw it up. So instead of doing anything at all, I yelled to nearby diners, "Does anybody know the Heimlich?!!"

That did the trick. Michelle coughed, breathed and managed to squeak out, "No, I'm fine." And with that, the excitement was over (although the thudding in my chest took a good, long while to subside). The problem was that a piece of limp lettuce had lodged itself in Michelle's throat like a valve, totally cutting off her airway for a minute.

She told me that when she realized I was about to manhandle her—or have a stranger manhandle her—the embarrassment helped her bridge that gap between choking and breathing.

Just happy to help, ma'am.

And I promise, I'll embarrass the heck out of any of you if it means saving your lives too!