Issues of Execution, Part II

Once Hillary and Simon - my sister and her fiance - arrived in Spokane, it was more of a race to bed than a race to catch up. Saria, Hillary and Simon's child, had apparently been fussy on the plane journey and wore both of them out; Mom was shattered after a long day of work; Reed, Chelsea and I had a long day in the car and doing odd jobs. Harry, of course, rarely sleeps, but that seems to come at the price of an excitable demeanor. Most everyone simply passed out instead of having much of a reunion.

Since I was sleeping on the couch, I was blessed with the presence of near insomniac Harry. As is usual in such a situation, I probed Harry's brain for what he thinks is an ideal thing to do at this odd point in my life, where there seems to be too much specific advice for particular career paths, but so little advice for the person who doesn't exactly know where they want to be or what they want to be doing. I told him of my apprehensions over Portland and moving in with my brother and Chelsea, and he told me if I moved to Portland now he expected I would only last about 6 months there before moving on. As a man who used to own many businesses, I asked him if he would hire me into any of his companies and he gave me two answers: 1. "Now? No. You don't have enough expertise in the field to give me quick results in any of those fields in this current economic environment." and 2. "Back then? Oh yes. If for nothing else but to know later on I'd have the security of you coming to me later on when you started your own ventures and needed partners." I inquired about a plan of action if I don't want to work for someone else, and he told me to start my own business now, with the expectation of failure - if only to offer that experience and know when I try again later on what to look for. Many beers and screwdrivers later, between both serious topics and jokes, the conversation ended with interesting insight, even if it was from a person who I don't always see eye to eye with. When we turned in to bed, it was probably close to 4 am - and I was woken up by talk in the kitchen and the crackling of bacon on the stove around 8:30.

The demeanor did not change much. No-one felt particularly festive it seemed. Reed and Chelsea slept in until well past noon,while Simon and I indulged in bloody PBRs over our breakfast. Saria puttered around the house, while Hillary followed making sure she didn't touch anything dangerous of eat any dirt or screws littered about the house. At least keeping her out of trouble meant that we got an excuse to see Saria in her new snow clothes.

 Harry rose as well around 9, and continued smoking his pipe around the child which bothered all of us except Mom it seemed, on top of giving Hillary a headache that made her less personable than her usual self. We eventually decided to go hunting around the town for some MTG booster packs which were on deal at Walgreens to combine with the others Simon and I had collected previously. After another drive around town so mom could show Hillary and Simon around the Spokane old town, the holiday descended into a simple attempt at killing time sadly. No one really seemed excitable, and the state of the house still did not inspire any holiday sentiments - so Simon and I simply resolved to drink the craft beers I'd brought from Portland and play with the cards after setting ourselves up with a table in the basement.

 We thought there would be some plans and we would be retrieved for other jobs to do or hear that we were going out for lunch or dinner - but we were undisturbed for hours until we came upstairs. Even then, there wasn't much space in the kitchen while Chelsea, Mom and Hillary gossiped and fixed a roast, so we were left to our own devices still. The dinner was finally ready, and it was delicious - all of us were still quiet. It was as if this wasn't our Christmas Holiday at all. It was kind of a shame really. And that night ended much like the last one, albeit we did play a game of Cards Against Humanity from which Harry resigned himself, Simon was very unexcited about, and, despite the laughs, no one seemed particularly bothered when it was over.

The next day, however, Simon and I resolved to do something and do some proper exploring of the city instead of sitting about and playing cards. Hillary, Chelsea, Saria and Mom decided that they would visit a park north of Spokane, while we got a lift into town to visit a number of Breweries in town. Reed decided not to partake and instead worked on projects with Harry.

Simon is a brewer in San Diego - or soon to earn that title instead of 'assistant brewer' - and craft beer is an interest that we both enjoy. He's a smaller guy with a loud voice and his own trademarked sort of humor rounded off with a healthy dose of bullishness on certain topics. He's the youngest in a family that's much older than he is... some of his brothers are almost twice his age.  Probably because of that, we have similar hobbies - and this provided us with some time to actually hang out, have a few laughs, and do a small pub crawl. It was a bit sad that it was only once we got to the No-Li Brewery that I actually started feeling like I was seeing people I cared about after a long time away, but I certainly was not complaining. We started out at No-Li trying every beer, six flights each, while Simon got some pretzels with beer-cheese.

The beers were a bit average, so this sparked a desire in us to move on to the next brewery, sealing our destiny forever in a night that would end in (minor) catastrophe. We crossed a bridge, and followed the directions to the next place in the wintery twilight of 4:00 pm in Spokane. Of course, what we didn't realize, is that everything in Spokane is shut on Sunday... or at least everything we were looking for. So we trudged along deserted muddy byways that were so still and quiet it made Simon uncomfortable as the sun went down (which of course I took the piss out of him for), until we came across the next brewery - which was shut. So we cut down under some highway bridges and had a jog to make sure we made it in time before closing so we could have two pints, and found the place was also closed. Great. The next closest brewery was more than 2 miles away and Yelp was not even an ounce of reliable that day. We had just about given up on having our pub crawl as we were now in a relatively rundown residential area of town, so Simon figured we should just go into the closest place and sit down for a bit, which happened to be a local burger chain called Zip's. Since the internet had been unreliable, Simon decided to find our way to the next watering hole the old fashioned way.

Simon: "Hey man, we were just wondering if you knew the closest bar to here."
Cashier: "Sure. Its just up at the next stop light."
Simon: "Nice. What's it called?"
Cashier: "The Flame."
Simon: (cocking an eyebrow) "... it's not a gay bar is it?"
Cashier: "Oh (laughing) no of course not" - glancing sideways at me - "I mean, unless that's what you're looking for. I can point you in the right direction for that."
Simon: "Naw man (laughing) I mean I'm cool with gay people and all that, I just wanted to make sure before we were in too deep!"

Realizing what he just said, we both promptly left the building and made for the next stop light. We found from its impressively outdated sign that it was actually called The Flaming Fox, and despite the hobo outside who tried to sell us his hat, it is apparently a family restaurant. Upon entering, we found a pretty typical local dive bar with no local craft beer of course, but with Busch's at $1.50 a pop and no better leads on where to go, we figured why not shoot a couple games of pool. Discouraged on our journey, we decided to just call Reed to pick us up, but he said he would be a while because he was in the middle of something. So we sat at the bar and drank quickly. After speaking to the regulars, which consisted of a middle aged man on welfare who deals pot, a Welsh man who had been coming to the bar for more than a decade, an elderly black man who kept trying it on with the bar maid who was probably close to 40 years his junior, and a kinda flamboyant fat guy with a very high pitched voice who had to get a word in edgewise on every conversation, we felt strangely rejuvenated and more excited about finding something else to do tonight. Once Reed had arrived, we resolved to find a place near Mom's to get a drink, and we found just the place - a sports bar called the Screaming Yak. By the time we arrived, Reed was more than happy to boot us out of the car after hearing jokes and laughter too merry for his current mood.

When I chose the Screaming Yak to go to, Simon and I both figured that the name was simply a pub name, with no actual reflection on the contents of the pub itself. And we were completely wrong. A casual visitor may have thought that the reason for this curious name was due to a certain yak's head mounted behind the bar, littered with quite a number of bras from previous customers

- and they would be wrong too. The reason why is actually hidden within the food menu, which Simon and I unfortunately stumbled upon. Its important to realize that Simon for some strange reason eats about twice as much as I do, so even though he ate earlier at No-Li, he was still hungry, and I may have been a bit hungry too and figured a snack before dinner would be good. That and we always like a challenge. So we got our pints of craft beer after Simon had to explain the difference between 'draft' and 'craft' beer to the derpy bartender, and commenting on how my pint kinda tasted like beer made from weird buttered popcorn, we decided to look at the menu. We figured we'd be eating alot later, so we should try and not get something too big, so Hot Wings looked to be perfect. And the moment our fate was sealed was when we gave our order to the bartender, he asked one simple question: "are you doing the hot wing challenge, or just getting the normal wings?" Simon and I slowly turned to one another, and it was at this moment, little did we know, that we were in too deep, in much the same manner as the Cashier at Zip's probably interpreted it. We were about to get fucked.

Simon: "Wait... what's the hot wing challenge?"
Bartender: "Well, you get your choice of flavor of hot wing, and you just have to finish a pound of them, which is about eight to ten hot wings, in fifteen minutes."
Me: "And what do we get for completing the challege?"
Bartender: "You get your wings for free, and you get your picture up on the wall with all the other people who have done it."

He pointed behind us, and we quickly scanned the wall. The one's that stuck out most to me were a guy who looked about 80 years old, a small asian girl, and a blonde girl who looked plenty happy. I looked again at Simon, and we both knew this was gonna be a cinch. But still we had some doubts so  we inquired further.

Me: "So can we have drinks with them?"
Bartender: "Sure. Have a pint of whatever you like with your wings."
Simon: "And you get a full fifteen minutes for the wings?"
Bartender: "Yep."
Me: "Then we'll take the Challenge wings I think"

It all just sounded so good. We were gonna get our snack, for free, have a few pints then go grab some delicious Christmas prime rib. That's what we thought until the bartender placed a waver in front of both of us. It was a fucking legal liability disclaimer, that also held in legal prints that we were idiots for even attempting this challenge. And this is where started to get a bit nervous.

I mean, a legal disclaimer? You give that to a man eating pufferfish with an amateur chef in the kitchen, not someone about to eat hot wings, not any normal hot wings or atleast anything one would describe as hot wings on this earth. Then we started thinking about the time limit.... it seemed awfully long. Could it be that it would be such a struggle that it would take almost a full 2 minutes to eat a wing? and the drinks allowance... perhaps it was a level of spiciness that no liquid could help its burn. We flipped a coin for who would go first, and I lost. And the moment my wings were put on the bar, we both knew that this was no ordinary wings. Their very odor was so acrid, that the smell hurt more than any spicy thing I had had before. Without a doubt, this pile of meat covered in red sludge that I knew would burn my goddamn hands let alone my mouth I imagine was straight from the deepest bowels of hell. And then I began the challenge.

As soon as I consumed my first bite of the spicy solution, I knew why this pub was called the Screaming Yak. It's because the noise that would be jettisoned from my insides if I were not busy stuffing these horrid hot wings inside them would be exactly that of a screaming yak. Sweat started to pour down my face and I thought I was crying, until I realized the sauce was so fucking hot I'm pretty sure my tears were being secreted as water vapor.  As I ate, my abdominal muscles cramped, shook, and sputtered, trying to eject the infernal matter as quickly as possible. The second the volatile sauce reached my stomach, it actually felt like it was burning me from the inside out, and there was a mounting intense pain, as if this were the aftermath of being punched in the gut by Muhammad Ali the one time he was wearing a spiked knuckleduster coated in the distilled essence of 10,000 habenero chillis. My feet tapped so quickly and desperately on the bar's foot rest, a talent scout from Hollywood would have named me the reincarnated version of Fred Astaire. I finally overcame the challenge in what felt like hours, but was actually the worst six and a half minutes of my life, and quickly drank 3 pints of milk,which did not alleviate any of the pain. I washed my hands many times, but my skin continued to burn and remained red and irritated. I knew a drop had landed on my forehead whilst eating, because there was a burning like 16 bees had stung me all in that singular place. It was during a moment of brief lucidity that I considered the fact that my life might end by immolation of the sauce variety, but eventually the heat succumbed and I had finally conquered the challenge. I can't even watch the video without sweating my face off. I don't even remember Simon saying his commentary. It was really that bad.

 But I finished just in time to see the repressed horror on Simon's face as his plate was placed in front of him. His reaction to the heat, however, was different than mine. Instead of rushing through, he simply tried to shut off as many auxiliary sensory systems as possible; Where he was cheering me on, he would not let me even speak to him, or clap him on the back when he finished his wings - all he could do was watch the football game to distract him from the trauma his body was going through. But he too conquered the challenge, with 2 minutes to spare. And he too was in absolute disarray. We did not celebrate after the wings - it was simple damage control. When our insides had calmed down enough to actually hold conversation, we asked what the fuck were those wings made with... and his response was that it was a  house special recipe Ghost pepper sauce. Fucking Ghost Peppers. Which was not on the menu. He said they added it to everyone's sauce when they did the challenge, which he did not inform us about. At which point we knew the bartender was a grade A asshole. But at least we did it... we had to be proud because after that challenge, it was the only thing we could take away from it besides a ruined digestive track.

We finished our drinks, and still with a distinct pain in our gut, headed to the nearest gas station to grab a bottle of off-brand Pepto-Bismol which we practically chugged as we quickly walked home to make it in time for dinner. Of course, our stomach were in such nuclear fallout, that I could only eat a small portion, and Simon just went straight to bed for an hour or two and couldn't eat anything besides tums and pepto until the next day. And truly, the effect that Ghost pepper sauce had on my restroom experience the next day was the closest I have ever come to being sexually assaulted by food. But Simon and Hillary also brought up some issues they were having with money... and Hillary knew we all got along great, including Saria, so she asked me to consider moving in with her, rather than going through the relocation to Portland. Mind you San Diego, while it may not be far, would be a whole new city for me... So I told her I'd think about it.

Chelsea left early that morning before we woke up, and we hung out that day much as we did the ones before, though Simon and I needed it for the recovery time. The following afternoon we all said our good byes and Merry Christmases and Happy New Years, then Mom drove Simon, Hillary, Saria and I to the airport, as I was catching the flight with them back to San Diego. It was nice seeing the northern sky and scenery, and I wondered when would be the next time I got to see it.

Once we'd gotten back to the apartment, Simon and Hillary were a bit relieved to be out of the tense environment and the smoke of the house from Harry. And I was certainly glad to get some relaxation time in before my next flight. and Though I took my time thinking carefully of Hillary's offer, I knew that moving in with Simon and Hillary was the choice I wanted to make - moving into a place because you're needed or at least your presence would be a help feels right rather than the 'fuck it, lets throw down here!' attitude that I felt in Portland. I suppose even if my execution wasn't fantastic, I'd sorted a place to live for the time being - an affordable and comfortable one at that. And, best of all, it feels like the right decision. Let's just hope the whole job thing follows just as easily from this decision... otherwise it could mean being on the road again soon.