Chapter Text
I read about the hot sauce before giving it out so I could have some information on how to sell it. I opened it up and sniffed, the smell singed my hairs right off. As I screwed the top back on I realized this kind of hot sauce was not for me. The bottle had a cartoonish picture of the devil, holding up a umbrella that failed to stop the fiery rain drops as they burned through the fabric and fell to the ground. The name of the hot sauce was “Hells Rain”, and the hot sauce itself was so dark red, it looked brown.
The bottle had two warnings on it. One of them comical, “Extremely Hot, not for the faint of heart”, and one serious, “Please do not take if you are pregnant of if you have heart/respiratory problems. I moved to the ingredients to find out what made it so hot and it made sense.
Ingredients: Apple cider vinegar, Canola Oil, Oblitus viper pepper, kosher salt, lemon juice, organic turmeric, spirulina (dietary supplement).
The source of the heat was obviously the, “Oblitus Viper pepper” the spiciest pepper that naturally grows Pepperton. It had a Scoville rating of 530,000. For reference a Jalapeño pepper’s Scoville rating could get up to 8K, meaning this hot sauce’s primary pepper was mathematically 65 times hotter than a Jalapeño pepper.
I knew that hot sauce could cause a rush of endorphins, that can give a euphoric feeling, similar to chocolate. I preferred chocolate, there was no chance I was going to try this stuff considering I couldn’t even stomach the fire sauce at Taco Bell. But that’s something I could use as an easy excuse, like how some people believe eating hot foods helps them “burn out a fever”, or how the intense heat helps their immune system. I didn’t need it to be true, I just needed them to believe me. I was selling a hot sauce cure to fix real problems for desperate people. The good thing was I could lend an ear to those who wanted to talk. The bad thing was that I was exploiting their pain and hardships to push a hot sauce which would hopefully get the mayor re-elected. It would be worth it in the end, I reminded myself.
The list from the Mayor had 13 different locations I needed to give out the hot sauce bottles. The first 7 were various cancer support groups, the five other groups were Gamblers Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, Food Addicts Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and a small religious non-profit dedicated to anger management called, “All Talk No Smite”.
I hit up each the anonymous groups first.
The gamblers were fun, they ended up making a game out of who could eat the most the hot sauce. We ended up crowning one of them as the hot sauce champion. Although I did feel a little guilty when I realized a few of them were betting on who would win.
The AA group went smoothly. I was able to preach about the mayor and the new hotsauce that got me through drinking. Everyone had a couple chips worth and before I knew it, it was all gone.
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NA was the largest group by far, so I ended up going back a couple times. The second time I head in, I saw Marriane was there, she was trying to stay hidden, dressed up in a dark hoodie and jeans. She didn’t talk much, I could see she put makeup over her red birthmark, it almost made her unrecognizable, but I could tell. You don’t really forget the person responsible for your father’s death, that’s soldered into my brain.
-“What’s your vice?” I ask
“Green Salamander”
At first the NA group picked at the hot sauce, but eventually they all started to like it. Marriane personally thanked me for coming in since this was the first time.
One the second and 3rd time I came back and setup cameras before everyone came in. This was when I could catch her. She would admit to taking these drugs and if I can get that on film, then someone could find out how she is distributing it. As everyone is leaving, I get up and walk to the chair opposite of me to remove the camera. Then from the corner of my eye, I see a hooded figure in the corner, starting at me. When I get to the chair, I set my foot on it, loosen my laces and retie my shoes. As I’m messing with my shoes, I remove the camera from under the chair. Then I go to each one, stacking them on top of each other and moving them to against the wall.
I turn around and got to pickup the bowl and chips. She is still there, outside the door, waiting for me. at me. I pick up the bowl and chips
The last group didn’t eat much. The chips were barely opened and the hot sauce bowl was almost full. I carefully slipped the cameras into the hot sauce. It may ruin the cameras, but it’s better than getting caught.
When I stepped walked outside, she stopped me.
“Hey, It’s Ellis Right?”
I turned my head back, “Yeah.”
“What’s in the bowl?”
I twitch and bring the bowl close to me, “Just hot sauce.”
“Can I see it?”
“You want to see my bowl of hot sauce?”
She shakes her head, “Sorry if that sounded weird. I just really liked the hot sauce last time. I was wondering if I could get some?”
A wave of relief washes over me. “Sorry, I have to take this home. But I have a couple bottles in my house. I can drop some by if you want”
“Really? That would be amazing, I can pay you if you want”
“Oh don’t worry about it. I’m drowning in the stuff. Where do you want me to drop it off?”
‘I can’t do it this week because of the festival, but can you do it next Monday at the Hornworm farm? Do you know the place?”
“Yeah, I’ve been there a couple times. I can drop it off.”
“Okay, that’s great. Thank you!”
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The ‘All Talk No Smite’ support group was refreshing because reminded me of college. Whenever someone would get mad, I had to stop myself from trying to but in and correct them. They covered the basics, think before you speak, speak in “I” statements, find an outlet for your anger(which is usually exercising), but in this case, it was god. Unfortunately, the group wasn’t successful. Behind the stiff bodies that swayed in their seats, their voices still shot up every time they felt challenged and their eyes lit up with rage. The group, despite it’s best efforts was teaching them how to suppress their anger instead of managing it.
They checked off every box in the standard anger management tool kit, but they didn’t address the anger itself. You can’t just identify the symptoms of the anger and stop it, you must work to learn the root cause of the anger. Because the truth is, anger, just like any feeling, should be respected and understood- but that doesn’t mean it needs to always be expressed. Anger is not just a feeling that leads to a person beating their spouse, it’s also a feeling that can spark change for the better, to let someone know that they are in a toxic relationship, like someone who gaslights people for instance-and that’s my queue.
I stood up and waved, “Hi, I’m Ellis, and I have an anger problem”.
By the end of a few sessions, the hot sauce was gone.
I didn’t know sh*t about substance or alcohol abuse, but communicating your feelings? I can do that. I typed up “All Talk No Smite” in the notes app on my phone. I decided that I was going to work here as a volunteer after I’m get Marriane thrown in prison for distributing drugs. This would a sort of reparations.
Food Addicts Anonymous was the last support group I had. I never did go to that group. I’m not a complete asshole.
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Weeks passed as I went from group to group, until I had no other groups but the cancer groups. With anger management, alcohol/substance abuse, I could talk my way out of it. I could say they were partially responsible for their situation(even if that wasn’t true), but it was easier to lie to swallow. But cancer patients? I crossed my fingers and hoped one was like Hitler.
I really tried this time, I wanted to put on a real show, but I was never one for acting. I was always the idea guy, or the quick fingers. I could talk and bullsh*t my way through a conversation, but pulling out tears, showing real emotions? That was Stacy’s league. She was always the distraction, she was an actor after all.
So I dressed nice, a button up shirt, ironed jeans, and clean shoes. I brought along a bag of chips and a bowl of the hot sauce so anyone could sample them. I was the first one there, more nervous than eager to meet everyone. Then the men started to roll in, when the door opened, the smell of pine trees and tobacco wafted in the door. Grey heads of hair and boney bodies walked into the room decked head to toe like they were ready to sail a boat in the middle of Arizona.
They all sat down carefully making sure their crotch had sufficient padding before their butts touched their seats. Then they went around the circle, a few men talked about a successful updates on their diagnosis, others talked about going out with family and having fun despite the pain, but most of them just talked about how afraid they were and the others encouraged them to let it out.
I wanted them to know that I wasn’t trying to demean them or their struggle. I wanted them to to know that I was in awe of how brave they were, that I wished I had their courage. But Mainly, I wanted to convince these 5 geriatric men that I, a 26-year-old kid had prostate cancer and that my painful urinations were resolved when I ate this new hot sauce I was gifted by JP Farms as a thank you for supporting their new fermentation plant.
When they got to me, I wave them to them, “Hi, I’m Ellis, and I have prostate cancer”.
They all nodded and welcomed me without question.
“I- I know I’m young, but I got diagnosed a couple months ago. My dad died from it when I was young, so the doctors thought it was possibly genetic, and it looks like it is”.
My stomach flipped inside my when I spoke. I was doing this all for him, and here I was lying about his death and trying to con some old folks into thinking that this hot sauce is a magical cure. If there was a line, I think I just crossed it.
The room was quiet, they all just looked at me, so I continued on.
“These last couple months, it started to hurt when I pee and my doctor said-“
Franklin patted me on the shoulder, “Was this after your first radiation treatment? It’s always a bit more sensitive after”
Fred, then man with the cane across from my started to laugh, “The day after the first radiation treatment feels like a kick to the nuts!”
Everyone chuckles, and I can’t help but laugh them.
“Anyway, I was gifted hot sauce by JP farms for supporting them, and I brought some by today because I noticed that eating the hot sauce has helped with my flare-ups.”
Jim K, “Oh man, I can’t have anything hot, heartburn is a real problem when you older”
Fred shrugs him off, “f*ck heartburn, If eating some hot sauce everyday means it doesn’t burn when I pee, then I will inject that sh*t into me.”
My anxiety spikes and I can feel my breathing start to shift into hyper gear, so I stay quiet.
Franklin, the man next to me notices something and brings me into a side hug to calm me, “Hey, it’s okay, you can tell us anything. It’s a safe space here”
It was at this moment that I realized, I have felt more at home in the presence of strangers, then I ever did with my Uncle. So the words that followed next, were for the first time in a long time, truly honest.
“I miss my dad- and I’m afraid he wouldn’t be proud of me”
Franklin, “I don’t believe that for a second”
“I don’t think you understand, I’ve done horrible sh*t. I’m not a good person. ”
Franklin, “Look at you kid, your young, you got your whole life ahead of you. There is plenty of time to right those wrongs.”
“I just don’t know if I deserve to be forgiven”
“Ahh he’s feeling The Flavor Flav Effect’ right now!”
Franklin smiled,”Yes! That’s it!”
“I’m sorry- What?”
“You know that rapper Flavor Flav- the one with the clock around his neck?”
“Yes, I know of him”
“Well, the Flavor Flav effect is when some important event in your life puts a ticking clock around your neck. And the thing is, the clock is so heavy and large, it forces your neck down and you look how much time you have left. For some people it’s a harrowing car accident, a death in the family, and for us- it’s cancer. The Flavor Flav effect makes you reflect on your life and what really matters, and for you, that’s what kinda person you have been.”
“What? No, I came here because I have cancer and I just wanted to meet people who understand what I’m going through.”
“Yeah, that gets you in the door, bu that’s not why people stay. When you get in the group, we all just try to help each other find out what to do now and how best to go about it.”
“Wait, so what can I do?”
“Well the first thing you can do is pump your breaks and recognize how far you’ve come and celebrate it.”
“But I’ve done nothing so far.“
“Nothing? Your in your 20’s, and spending a Saturday night talking about a scary deadly disease that has put your life on hold, and sharing this with a bunch of old geezers that you’ve never met, that’s courage kid.”
Jim P holds his hand up, “I knew for 6 years, before I felt comfortable enough to come in. Your miles ahead of me.”
Franklin smiled, “This support group for as much as it’s ‘bitching about cancer’ it’s also about finding friends, and find ways to help each others lives be better despite everything we have to deal with. So don’t worry about it so much okay?”
I smile, “Thanks- wait worry about what?”
He slaps me on the back,” Your dad. He may have died from prostate cancer, but if he was still here, he would be very proud of you.”
I froze. I tried to continue on, but all that came out was a stuttering apology, “I’m sorry- I can’t do this”
I ran out, leaving the chips and hot sauce behind. As I exited the building, the vomit came like karmic lava, burning the bullsh*t that tainted my mouth the last couple weeks. When I came back later that day, all the chips and sauce was gone.
The next 6 cancer support group went smoothly because I took out the one thing that made these situations harder, me. With every group, I did the same thing, I left a bag of chips, a bowl of hot sauce and a note about explaining that I was too afraid to go in, where I got the bottle, and how it helped me overcome my disease.
I also left a note saying they could keep the bowl afterwords. So I bought a brand new bowl for the remaining support groups, which seemed acceptable. It was like a tax for lying assholes.
