“It’s not kick you in the face spicy, but its a little hot” I said as I took another bite of my dinner in hopes of getting my friend to try it. It was wing night at our favorite restaurant but he hates spicy things. In reality the hot sauce I had chosen felt as if it was burning a hole straight through my esophagus and turning my stomach into an active volcano, but I sat there, straight faced. He caves, “alright if you say so, ill give it a shot.”

I grab the bottle and conveniently cover the label of the bottle reading 2,000,000 Scoville heat units with my thumb. I douse his wings with a glaze of the sauce and I watch as he builds the courage for a bite. He brings the wing to his mouth and the instant his tongue openly meets the bread I watch as his face sinks. It was as if he had never been so thirsty in his life as he chugged water after water with no change. I ran to get him a glass of milk but by the time I started my walk back to the table I saw him run out the front door.

I grabbed a crumbled, old 50 dollar bill out of my pocket and threw it on the table and chased him down to the parking lot. He took the glass of milk in stride and continued towards the nearby Penobscot river. He leaped over a fence and threw himself into the water where he bobbed, mouth wide open as I arrived at the scene. He looked at me with utter rage and said “Its not kick you in the face spicy huh?”