Life Without Preparation H

Only one potential customer refused to buy hot sauce yesterday, citing new airport security regulations.

"But I always advise people against carrying it on to the plane," I lied. "See? That's why I bubble-wrap it. I tell people to pack it in their suitcases inside a shoe."

But she was not to be dissuaded. She shook her head emphatically: no, no and no. "It's bad enough they won't let me bring my Preparation H," she grumbled. "I can tell you this: I'm never going to take a vacation where I have to fly some place ever again. Standing two hours in some airport security line is not my idea of a vacation."

She bought three packs of microwave habanero popcorn and a packet of Mr. Hogg's chili seasoning instead. Mr. Hogg, a jolly septuagenarian from Mesa, Arizona, makes the best chili seasoning around so she got the better end of that deal since the hot sauce she originally contemplated buying was a bad one with a cutesy label: Pain In the Ass with a winking donkey.

Still. She may have been the canary in the coalmine. I am wondering this whether I should give some attention to diversifying my product mix even more.

Put in my customary 45 minutes of CNN-watching this morning. Caught a grizzled George Dubya Bush grimly juxtaposing the word "fascism" (them) with "freedom" (us.) "Fascism", the CNN analyst hastily stepped up to the plate to inform us, is a political ideology wherein the interests of the state are placed far, far above the interests of us ordinary folks.

Hmmmmmm. Sounds a lot like a two-hour airport security line without Preparation H to me.

In other news, had a most unpleasant phone conversation with Ben yesterday. We were discussing his return to Monterey, which he thinks might be some time in September though he doesn't know exactly when.

"Robin says you're coming back on September 14th."

"I don't know where he got that from," Ben laughed.

Probably because you told him, shithead, I thought. But instead I merely asked, "And where are you planning to stay?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I was going to stay at the house."

"And how long were you planning to stay for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Ben, I'm your friend and everything and I'll do everything I can to help you get established. I mean, I've been emailing you job leads. And Robin needs you in his life. But we're not going to be a couple anymore, I've told you that, I want out. So for you to come back to the house without any kind of clear plan on an open-ended invitation – well, quite frankly, that scares me. I need some kind of assurance that you're going to leave again."

"This conversation is making me very angry and I'm going to hang up now," he said.

This conversation was making me angry too. It was as if he felt entitled to stay in the house, as though I was making some kind of unrealistic demand to know when he was going to leave again.

Maybe it's not such a great idea for him to come back.