I would just like to say for the purposes of my own stupid personal records, I was warned not to do this not once, not twice, not three times, but a full six times, and I still did it anyway. It's like when someone warns you, "this plate is hot," and you still touch it expecting it not to be. Like, you moron, I told you it was hot. And yes, I'm a moron for not listening to the lady at the counter who stood there giving me the once over and explaining to me that if I made the decision to eat what I was about to eat, I'd probably regret it.
She was right.
A short drive later, I was at home gently shuffling my dinner from the Styrofoam container on to a plate and grabbing some napkins, ready to tuck in. I didn't care about this woman's warnings to me beforehand because it seemed like a bunch of hype, like let's warn the customers with a little reverse psychology to get them to try our product. It totally worked because I'd bought into her scheme, probably like a lot of other gullible people, but I didn't care. Right in front of me were ten of the supposedly hottest wings on earth.
Psssh! Everyone says that! Every place with anything even a touch hot, says, this is the hottest thing on earth, but 99% of the time, it's a mild something or it maybe burns a little, but it's nothing to get worked up over. I mean, I was the sort of person who ate jalapeno poppers, and poured hot sauce into my soup, and seasoned just about everything with cayenne and routinely enjoyed the spicy jerk chicken that I would make for myself and others, in a marinade that contained habaneros. I'd also eaten spicy Thai food and lived to tell about it, so what were some stupid little wings going to do?
The most. Those wings were going to do the most!
I picked up a juicy little red colored drumette. I gave it a little sniff which caused me to cough a little, but what spices that you do that to, wouldn't give you the same reaction. With one set of fingers holding on to each side, I proceeded to strip the meat clean off the bone.
It was getting warm in the room; like really warm. I could feel this heat coming up and through somewhere in my body, but I thought, oh, it was probably just going to pass shortly. The wing was still no big deal. That was definitely my last moment of calm before the storm. Ready to continue onward, I picked up another wing...and then, just as sure as I'd picked it up, I quietly set it back down. Something was happening.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I WAS ON F--KING FIRE! I felt the flames start to come up through my ears. My ears!!!! Almost immediately they turned a beet red color as did the rest of my face. I started flapping my arms like a bird, like miraculously learning to fly at that moment would have suddenly made everything better. My lips were swollen now and they stung to the touch. Snot was pouring out of me like a fountain that no tissues could dam. Everything within me was burning and I could not escape the flames.
As tears streamed violently down my face, I reached for...a glass of water. No, no, no! You learn from eating peppers 101, you never get water! It only makes it worse, but I sure did slug it down like a woman who had been lost in the dessert for weeks. That water was like throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. It seemed to just ignite what was left of me, that was not already consumed by the flames. I couldn't see at this point. I literally could not see. My eyes would not allow themselves to open anymore because the air hurt them and they knew it. Somewhere in this frantic state, I must have toppled the plate with those devil wings to the floor, but I didn't care. I couldn't think about anything but trying to stop the pain.
My stomach was in absolute knots. It just felt like everything I was doing or not doing was just exacerbating the problem. I couldn't take sitting in any sort of state of stillness anymore and stood up inadvertently smashing the wings into my socks. I was pretty sure if I wasn't quick enough, the spice would surely begin disintegrating the cotton if I didn't get some relief soon. In what must have been a pretty funny scene, I got up, my sock covered in wing sauce still flapping my arms trying to fly away, my eyes were still closed and feeling swollen between the heat and the tears, my lips looked like they'd been injected with silicone, and my ears were screaming, all the while, I'm running to the kitchen in search of some milk.
Nothing like human decency, manners, or drinking out of a cup like a civilized person mattered in that moment. I blindly found the largest container in the fridge, ripped the cap open, and just proceeded to drink. One cup, two, three, ten...I'd lost count. The milk was hot. That's what my brain was telling me because the peppery taste of the devil's taint, did not want to leave me.
It was all so ugly what happened in that hour. There were piles of tissues that upgraded to just using a towel, there were ice packs on anything I could try to cool down, I'd put my head under the cold shower head, I'd had more milk than any person should ever have at one sitting, fans, I'd turned the a/c down to 68F all the while my stomach had been roiling and churning from the combination of the milk, the ice cream I'd later eat, and those f--king wings. One wing had done all this. It had wrecked me. Once I'd regained my ability to open my now red puckered eyes, I picked up the remaining wings from the floor and shoved them directly into the trash.
Now when people mention the hottest this or that, and would I like to try it, the room gets all shadowy all of a sudden. It's so cold and dark. Papa can you hear me? I start to shake. No, I scream out. NO! I won't go back there! You can't make me go back there! NOOOOOO!
Yup, those wings were the worst food decision I ever made. What's yours?