HAVING A GAS

If I have found out one thing in my life, it is that justice is not interested in who deserves misery and who doesn’t. We all get some of it whether we think we deserve it or not, and much of it is self-inflicted.

When I head to the backcountry in certain areas, I carry a small can of pepper spray for fear that I will run into a furry creature with a taste for short, plump, hairy, balding humans.

I have never had to use the spray and do not expect to. I do hope to use it on a horsefly some day though; they seem to find me delicious.

I have, however, field-tested the stuff to boost my confidence that it will work as advertised.

After another long hike on a 90-degree day I arrived back at my 140-degree truck, anxious for the water jug I had foolishly left inside it to simmer. I unlocked the door and plopped behind the steering wheel with a grunt, which partially masked the hiss of escaping gas coming from my beltline.

Within a second I was bailing out the door, hacking, gasping and retching. The safety on the pepper spray had come off and, in a fashion that’s not particularly uncommon in my family, I had gassed myself.

After spending five painful minutes in the weeds, I managed to stagger up and get both doors of the truck open so it could air out. Ten minutes later I headed out, with my tail between my legs, still wheezing.

Spending quality time on my hands and knees in the bushes had caused me to sweat like a pig, and most of it seemed to be running into my eyes. Without thinking I reached up with my right hand and rubbed my salt-filled eyes, and unleashed another bout of excruciating pain.

“Holy, jumping, blue bosomed saints!” I cried (more or less). My hand had pepper spray on it and I had unwittingly filled my peepers with enough Capsaicinoids to subdue a grizzly. I slammed on the brakes and slid to the side of the thankfully deserted back road.

Upon further reflection, I am no longer convinced that I should keep such a substance within reach of my unreliable fingers. Having a gun could be even more dangerous. I may be safer if I just keep a pack of wienies in my pocket. I could toss them behind me to distract interested carnivores as I wobble off through the bushes.

Nobody has ever been shot or gassed by a wiener.