Blog one
The first story I put into retirement. It’s the Jalapeño eating contest story. See you put stories into retirement by giving them the final bang out telling. Try not to let one fade out and sizzled into burn out quality. Feel your audience. Feel the connection with the character, you. Maybe that story is currently not your best defining or qualifying character booster. We all know that, or at least should, in the fine tales lived under the beloved booze. We gather so many stories, while under substances that I have been at hard work gathering other tales. Turns out some of the basic players of drinking, drugs, sex, and eating come into play. Sad, some stories get repressed into doorless cells through public stigma. Well suck it stigma. This story starts off, at the point of discovery of its existence. My father called me up and asks, “How’s it been going?”
“You wont believe what happen. I was in a Jalapeño eating contest, wait back that up. So I asked this guy that I have been dating out to lunch at the Hospital Cafeteria. On my way to lunch I was driving my bike through the college campus and passed through an international celebration festival and I heard an announcement for a contest. I knew I could win. They said that it was in forty-five minutes. I told them that I had a lunch to go to so I would return for the event. I met Kyle at the Cafeteria and explained that we would have to make this a quickie because I was going to a Jalapeño eating contest, he could come if he liked, however he declined because he didn’t want to see me do something so disgusting to my body. I ate tomato soup and he had cherry pie. After I raced back to the contest on my bike and threw it behind the registration table, rather than locking it up. You had to sign an agreement saying that you wouldn’t sue for any self-inflicted damages, done. I signed. I was going to win. Sitting down, I notice that I am the littlest and one of a couple of females. Now, I got to win, for the audience. They start lining up cups of pickled jalapeños. I notice that I am short stacked and I yell to get another cup in front of me, I do not want to loose by default. I t begins. First a habanera and then twenty seconds of eating, then ten seconds of sitting and finally ten more seconds of more eating. After the habanera I took the cup in front of me and downed it. The announcer blared “THE LITTLE ONE JUST DOWNED ONE.” I just keep going and the neighboring contestants just put their cups in front of me. I won. While they gave my prize of a twenty-dollar certificate to an Indian restaurant, they asked what are you going to do next. “Get some ice cream.” One guy came up to me and asked, “How do you do something like that.” “You just do. Would you like to join me for ice cream.” We began walking toward the shop, but I recalled that I had forgotten my bike back at the registration table. When we had gotten back the place had cleared however the contest organizers were standing about and they yelled, “Hey, I think you forgot your bike.” “How did you know?” “Because it has a bell pepper!” We took a picture by the bike for the paper and then off we were again for some ice cream. In front of local in house made ice cream shop, I locked up my bike. I ordered a double on a waffle cone. After we walked up to a record shop and by the time I got up there, I told him we should part ways, I was going home. He commented that I could eat fast, as my cone had nearly diminished. I started home and picked up an ice coffee, needing the extra milk. I stopped off at Kyle’s to shove in his face my certificate for spicy Indian food. “I got to go home though my stomach ain’t feeling right.” I passed out into a coma. A few hours later, Kyle came by, with a wine glass of half and half. After a few sips I was up. We were going out to meet some of his friends for drinks. We start walking to the brewery and then I just look at Kyle and tell him I can’t go. “Okay” “I can’t go because of these F****** shoes.”
Oh dad, I had bought these wrestling high heal shoes at a collective garage sale for twenty-five cents after my friends and I were returning from a Ham and Turkey Festival. Anyway I had thought that that night the Jalapeño eating contest, night was the perfect time to bust them out. Not so. So while Kyle went off to congregate with his friends, I am thinking these shoes are horrible. What I really need is a belt. I take off my shoes and throw them into the street. Then a school friend comes across my path and asked, “How’s it going?” “Horrible these stupid shoes have ruined my night. Wait.” I ran into the street and grabbed them up. Returning, I told her my idea. “So I thought I will take them to a thrift store and exchange them for a belt.” “Sounds good.” We walked to the same coffee shop and shared a banana nut muffin, while I told her about my day over a crossword. She told me I should go home and go to bed. I did.
Dad, it doesn’t end there, though the next day I went to exchange my shoes for money to buy a belt. Guess what they gave me 6 dollars and twenty-five cents! That’s a huge profit margin. I paid twenty-five cents for them! So anyway they wrote up a receipt with my name and address on it. Then a few days later I am up at the library, and I was getting a new card. When they asked me for a proof of address, I handed them my receipt.
Wow, dad I didn’t even know that all happened.”-end of call
That story is in retirement and I thought what better way to start the tales then to begin with the first to have ever retired.
