Wednesday, January 6, 2021

Revisiting Peter Piper & His Peck of Pickled Pepper, Partially Because Peppered Peckers are Possible (The Things You Never Know Until You Know)


 Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

Disclaimer: It's customary for me to share stories, especially when they remind me that I was destined to become Jerry Lewis or Ace Venture Pet Detective from a very young age. I live my life, and do as I do, and every once in a while I'm given circumstances to remind me of my dooby-doo-doo fate. As much as I try to fashion myself as intellectual, successful, and on top of the world, a life event occurs to remind me, "Crandall. Get over yourself. You're a schmuck all the way to your core."

Note: PERHAPS YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ON.

Yesterday, I made a turkey, basil, tomato, cheese sub and left half for Chitunga. It was delicious, so when 5 p.m. hit and he texted, "Dad. I'm ordering Vietnamese. You have five minutes if you want anything. I'm starving," I immediate replied...."Yeah, that sub digested really quick. I'm hungry, too." The order was placed, he picked it up, he returned, they gave him the wrong order, he went back, they remade our order, another man walked off with ours, and he returned again. That's not the story. That was just evidence that he is my son, because order screw ups are typical for me. 

I ordered Phó thit nuóng with chicken. It's delicious and something I always ordered from Vietnam Kitchen in Louisville. Sue, Dave, and Dave's daughter, Jennifer, used to get a kick out of the fact that I would get it semi-spicy and then sweat ridiculously through the entire meal. It was so good that I didn't mind. I used to bring a towel with me. Hip Hip Hooray for Vietnamese food!

I've never ordered Vietnamese take out, however, and when it came, I wanted to heat it up, assemble it into the bowls I bought for just an occasion, and locate my chopsticks. There were lots of sides, too, to pour into the concoction (is that a pun? it could be?), when I noticed there was a giant sliced pepper. I said to myself, "Be careful, Crandall. You know you can't have it too spicy. You'd better taste it first." So I did, I picked it up in my fingers, took a few nibbles, and said, "Nope. No way. Too much," and threw it in the garbage. The rest landed in the microwave and while my dinner heated, I decided I really needed to pee because I drank two large glasses of water after a run. 

That was fine. What a relief.

The microwave did its ding, Chitunga was patiently waiting at the table to heat his meal, and I opened the door to retrieve dinner paradise. 

How quickly life can turn to the flames of hell, though. I bent over in agony. "Chitunga, I think I just developed a urinary track infection or else I'm about to pass a kidney stone." He looked at me like he always does, "WTF? You are so weird." I was on fire.

Then it occurred to me. The hot pepper. My fingers. Taking a quick whiz while the food heated up. Could it be? Is it possible?

I had to fly upstairs, "I'm on fire," I yelled. "I need to shower now!" Stripping my clothes, I ran up the stairs, and doused myself in running water. It was a burn like no other, and I had a million and one things running through my head (no, not that head, you bastard). "There's no way a pepper could do that, could it?" Peter Piper pickled his pecker with a pepper? Is that how it goes?

Ah, but a coat of Head & Shoulders (okay, you bastard, I will give you that one), then some soap, another application of Pantene conditioner, and more soap, then a towel to dry the parts off, and it was gone.

I came down the stairs hysterically laughing....the kind of chuckling one does when they realize they are the most pathetic creature in the world. I couldn't even explain the success story of the shower to Chitunga because, in my mind, I was already composing this blog and fashioning it for others to hear (I inherited the embellishment from my mother). The whole thing was so Crandall that I couldn't stop laughing. I knew I had to call my Uncle Dick in California. This was such a Dick story, too. I knew he'd laugh. (Okay, now that is funny). And he did laugh when I called to tell him.

Then, as I found myself relieved, I set out to Google Search what possibly could of happened - you know, the kind of search that you hope is coded enough so nobody will ever know that you typed what you typed into the search bar. I wore my teacher hat ....what would my search history look like in a court of law? How can I find information without seeming like some creepy, perverted guy looking for more spice in his love life. 

I started with "hot pepper" and "eyeballs," and learned it can be really bad. Blindness, in fact. As for your hands and other body parts, 
Capsaicin is the chemical responsible for this phenomenon. This alkaline oil-like compound is contained in the pithy white membranes which surrounds the seeds of hot peppersThe oil spreads easily.
Hypothetically, say, if one is playing with his food, I surmised, testing out its spice-gage while rubbing it into one's fingers as they nibble, before they head to the loo thinking, "Oh, snap. Time to let go with the yellow flow," could actually result in an alkaline, oil-like transfer of chemicals. The alkaline oil-like compound can easily go from skin to skin, especially if skin is holding other skin for a few seconds. 

This was totally what happened. By golly, Watson, I sleuthed a solution. I wonder if Bill the Science Guy has an episode on this? Sesame Street? This is kind of cool. That's what all my academic degrees are for!

I thought I was having a Rhiannon-Berry-Burger-King-coffee experience for the ages. Burn, baby. Burn. You can imagine the relief when I learned that soap, water, shampoo, water, conditioner, water, shampoo, water, and tap-tap-tap with a bath towel actually works.

And I share this story out of appreciation for knowing, learning, and respect for the wonders of nature. You never know, until you know. 

Now I know. 

So don't try this at home. 

And yes, when revisiting the .gif above, I realize it gets funnier after you read what is written here, especially if you consider its narrative arc (which is rather complex for a gif). Watch it again, carefully. And wash your hands before you pee. 

The End.

No comments:

Post a Comment