All I wanted to do was make a pot of chili. I had done this countless times before without incident.
Little had I realized in the past what a dangerous project this could be. Little did I realize what a powerful enemy lie in that harmless looking jalapeno.
I chopped onions & peppers carelessly without any sort of protection. Now I know better – in the future I will be donning the appropriate attire: a full body HAZMAT suit.
A pile of chopped jalapenos, peppers and onions sat on the cutting board as I began to open cans of stewed tomatoes and beans. That was when the horror began. The skin underneath my right ring finger began to burn. Without any thought at all, I rinsed it under some cold water & reached for the can opener.
What? No can opener. A P-38. Just fucking wonderful. I began wrestling with the primitive device that appeared to be useless other than mangling the tin. Suddenly, I realized that the slight sensation of burning underneath the fingernail of my right ring finger had suddenly turned into such an unholy pain that had rendered my entire finger utterly useless.
Seconds later, the wrath of the jalapeno had consumed my entire hand.
Of course, the wisdom of the Internet would save me. “Soak your hand in milk”, it said. Sure. Milk. Of course.
By the time that Olivier arrived at home, he had found me surrounded by glasses of ice water, milk & vegetable oil – all of these guaranteed cures for my affliction.
The pain had continued for around 8 hours before I made him call poison control. Not surprisingly, they really weren’t too concerned.
Olivier tried burn ointment, ice & even iodine – the latter causing me to beg him to wash it off of my hand.
12 hours later, Olivier was in bed. I was watching an old episode of 24 with a bag of ice on my hand. It was now 1:00 in the morning.
Stupid jalapenos.