OK, so I'm walking to my car this morning, minding by own business, and  
I vaguely notice this young woman (mid-20's or so) pacing around the  
parking lot near my apartment. She's wearing a polo shirt with what  
looks like a tortilla chip embroidered on it, and she seems to be in  
some distress. Kind of oblivious, I go to get into my car, when she  
strides up and asks, "Can you do me a big favor and drop me off at Chi  
Chi's?" I'm a little taken aback since I've never laid eyes on this lady  
before. But she seems harmless enough (and even somewhat cute), and  
since Chi Chi's is very nearby and is right on my way to work, I say,  
"Sure. No problem." I figure she works there, is having some car trouble  
and needs a quick lift. She thanks me, and we get into the car and head  
out.

As we get underway and we're making polite chit chat, she sheepishly  
explains that she had left her car in the Chi Chi's parking lot last  
night. "Rough night?" I ask jovially. "Yeah," she explains, humorlessly.  
"I don't even remember how I got home. I just know that I woke up this  
morning with two traffic cones in my bed." I can't remember what my  
response was, but I hope I managed to keep the deep amusement off my  
face because the mysterious cones seemed like a very serious matter to  
her.

As I go to make the left turn into the Chi Chi's parking lot, she looks  
concerned and says, "Oh no!" When I ask what's wrong, she pauses for a  
while in obvious bewilderment, then says, "I'm. not here!" Thoroughly  
confused, I mutter something like, "Huh?" She explains that she's  
gotten her foggy memories of the previous night mixed up, and has just  
realized that her car is not parked at Chi Chi's at all, but is rather  
parked in a garage 10 miles away, which is definitely NOT on my way to  
work. She asks where I work. When I explain where it is, she asks if I  
could instead drop her off at the Frito Lay factory, her place of work.  
(That explains the tortilla chip.) This is only a slight diversion from  
where I'm heading. She'll make other arrangements to get her car. I  
agree.

Right after we get off at the exit for the Frito Lay plant, I start to  
hear startling choking sounds coming from her direction. When I look to  
see what's wrong, I realize that she's actually gagging violently. By  
the time this registers and I ask her if she's OK, her cheeks are puffed  
out like a hamster's, as if her mouth is full. She shakes her head and  
makes a "MMM-MMM!!" noise, indicating that she was definitely NOT OK.  
Given her previous night's activities, I quickly realize in horror that  
this young lady had just vomited into her mouth, and is desperately  
trying to hold it in. I quickly pull over to the shoulder, and she  
flings the door open and proceeds to spew. We sit there for a minute or  
two while she pukes a couple more times on the grass.

When she finally gets back into the car, she looks absolutely mortified.  
I ask if she'll be OK for the rest of the ride. "I hope so," she says. I  
look at my currently chunk-free upholstery and think, "I hope so too!"  
We proceed on, and she begins to apologize (with foul breath) in earnest  
for the whole embarrassing affair, and then starts to cry. I try  
to assure her against all reason that it's no big deal, that this kind  
of thing happens all the time, but she will not be placated. She keeps  
castigating herself and saying how ashamed she is. For both of our  
sakes, I just want to get this poor lady out of my car at this point, so  
I step on it the rest of the way to the Frito Lay plant.

When we get to the plant, she apologizes again and makes a couple of  
other self-denigrating comments as she gets out of my car. Then she  
tells me that I was a life-saver and tosses a $20 bill into one of my  
cup holders, explaining that it was for "having to go out of your way  
and put up with a crazy, drunk girl." I start to protest the money, but  
she closes the door and tears off into the employee entrance before I  
get very far.

After I started off to work again, it hit me that this gal had mentioned  
that she lived in building 'G' in my complex. I live in building 'F'. So  
we're literally next-door neighbors. I'm sure, though, that we'll never  
run into one another if she has anything to say about it.