Priorities change

Being Frank

by Frank Ameduri

It's funny how your priorities can change in an instant. Thursday night when I went to bed I was concerned about war, the price of gas and the economy. Friday morning, at the intersection of Bogard Road and Seward Meridian, my priorities shifted in a radical way, and I was concerned about the floor of my car and what I was going to tell my friends at the party Friday night. Isn't it funny how that happens? Amazing what a crock pot full of New Mexico-style chili and a 98-degree turn can do.

I'd spent the last several days talking up my chili to the people who would be at the party. Thursday I went shopping for all the secret ingredients. I went home and roasted peppers and combined the secret ingredients in the way only someone from New Mexico can. I got them all started in the pot and let them slow cook -- all night. Friday morning I sampled just a bit. It was right. I loaded the pot into the car and headed off for work. I figured I might end up heading straight to the party after work, so I wanted to keep the chili close.

Turning right from Bogard onto Seward Meridian is as close to a U-turn as you can get and still end up on a different street. I was tired. I hadn't had coffee yet. There was a guy right on my tail. I whipped around the corner and my priorities changed. When situations get very intense, things seem to happen in slow motion. That's what happens when a crock pot full of New Mexico-style chili gets a little past vertical on the floor of your car. There was no stopping it. New Mexico-style chili has an attitude. Once it makes up its mind to trash the floor of your car, it's already over. There was a thud and a sort of "splorting" sound.

At that moment, the pending war became a very small and distant thing. What did the price of gas matter when I had three gallons of toxic chili on the floor of my car? That's how priorities change. Suddenly, I was a shrieking lunatic behind the wheel of a speeding car. There was still a guy on my tail, so I couldn't just slam on the brakes. I careened down the road at a great clip as I dove for the passenger side of the car, my left knee holding the steering wheel as straight as possible. If there were a law against cursing in a school zone, I'd be in maximum security with no chance of parole right now. It wasn't pretty. I shouted words I'd never even heard before. I turned two curse words into one really scary curse word. Then I liked how that sounded and turned six other swear words into one extremely noxious, hyphenated swear word. Somewhere my grandmothers both turned over in their graves, and then they got up and turned a few other people in their graves.

I managed to right the pot, but it was obvious that more than half of the chili had found the floor of my car. When I looked up, I was on the shoulder -- on the other side of the road. The scene behind me looked like something from a Smokey and the Bandit movie. Cars were in the creek, cars were on the shoulders, cars were dodging other cars. What did I care? Did any of them have three gallons of toxic chili on their carpet?

It wasn't just that I'd been bragging about my chili. It wasn't only that I'd spent a lot of money on secret ingredients and then put them together in my very secret way. Part of the recipe actually has to be performed in complete darkness and the telephone has to be unplugged from the wall. It wasn't just that I wanted to share the chili with my friends. There were the economic and environmental concerns as well. New Mexico chili has to be handled in a certain way. Once it comes into contact with the lower atmosphere, things begin to happen. I was still more than five minutes from work, and I knew it wouldn't be long before the floor on the passenger side of my car was just a hole, and then the entire crock pot full of chili would be loosed upon the environment. Once, a woman in Los Lunas, New Mexico poured a batch of chili that had gone wrong down the drain. Twelve miles of the Rio Grande River south of Los Lunas had to be closed for six days while agents from the Center for Disease Control, the Department of the Interior and Hazmat experts were able to get the crisis under control. That's what I was up against. If the floor of my car didn't hold up, I'd have to live with the ensuing ecological disaster for years to come.

And besides, I also realized I was going to have to show up at the party with a giant bag of Smarties … again.

Frank Ameduri's car and the environment are safe from disaster. No cars actually ran off the road and no one was injured in this incident. Ameduri's pride, however, suffered greatly when he arrived at the party with only six teaspoons of his infamous chili remaining -- to be split among 20 people.