50. Salsa-Fest 2016: Will the Salsa Hit the Fan?

Anxious clouds scudded across the September sky as preparations for Salsa-Fest 2016 were underway. Something, however, was clearly wrong. The fourth recorded Salsa-Fest felt different, even more so than usual, although each one preceding it was fraught with its own controversies and conflicts. It was true. Salsa-Fest, the time of celebration, had faced a growing current of hostility that, somehow, may well metastasize into a catastrophic climax in what could well be its final year, the year 2016, only to be recorded in the annals of history, or in the archives of the local newspaper—depending upon whether the local reporter/biker chic would show up with her notepad (not to mention on time) and live through and accurately record the events as they occurred. Would history end here? Would it continue in an altered form?  Would anyone notice? Would the neighbor be happy about it? Let’s just continue before the questions pile up like an unturned compost pile . . .

Characters from the past had returned with reinforcements. You could literally smell the tension in the air—though a few of the friendlier folks familiar with the two Eds were aware of their somewhat sketchy hygiene regimens. On a side note, the two Eds had developed the defensive practice of blaming each other, usually with an oscillating thumb pointed in the direction of the other Ed when his back was turned. It was a truly sad spectacle. (A quick shower with Irish Spring could have solved the problem. Why is a simple solution so elusive? Does the elusiveness of simplicity expose utter imbecility? Something to think about, preferably with a cup of coffee.)

The afternoon began with the pre-Salsa-Fest Festival of New Products, something Hawkinson had thought of during the week-long January thaw of 2016. He wanted to “mix things up a bit, for the sake of keeping the celebration fresh and perky (perky?).” The new products were proudly displayed with their fresh new labels, all designed by Marketing Director Absinthe Florida in her spare time, when she wasn’t out shoveling the driveway. Potential customers milled about under canopies spread out randomly across the grounds of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Salsa production facilities. Sales were slow, even though, technically, the products under the umbrella of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Salsa are not available for sale. (See Post #8.) The roll out of the new product line, perhaps too ambitious for a single trial, included Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Raspberry Compote, Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Coleslaw in a Jar, Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Potato Jam (not to be confused with jam for potatoes; instead, it’s jam from potatoes), and Ed’s very good Smokehouse Fennel Wiggle (because even Duane didn’t want his fingerprints on that particular product). So sales were slow. Changing public perceptions—not to mention tastes—is no small challenge. To put off potential buyers even more, the label on Ed’s very good Smokehouse Fennel Wiggle contained a Personal Evaluation questionnaire (see Post #3) to determine whether people were a good fit for the product. Not having a pencil to fill out the squares, most prospective buyers just shook their heads and placed the jars back on the counter . . .

“Since when do I have to prove I’m good enough for anything with fennel in it?” scoffed a resentful retiree—who apparently did not understand the subtleties of the Personal Evaluation. “I don’t even like fennel,” he added. When pressured to explain himself, he later admitted, “No, I don’t know what fennel is. I've never tasted the stuff. Is it legal? What’s fennel? Is it some kind of drug?” Then he added, “Forget it, I don’t want to know. I’m too old to try new things . . .” He stumbled off and never returned, muttering to himself, “F#*! fennel, you jack asses!” 

Clearly a bad sign.

Fennel--looks like dill on the top and some sort of
alien being on the bottom. Approach with caution.
Reminder: Some people are hostile to fennel. Also
approach them with caution. (Better yet,
just leave them alone.) Better safe than sorry.

Editor's Note: We would like to apologize to our more sensitive readers for the rough language employed by the cranky retiree. His wife claims that he's really a nice guy when you get to know him, but that he's never been the same since the The Late Show with David Letterman went off the air. She also claims the general decline of civil society, including the paperboy who keeps throwing his newspaper into dog piles, has been getting to be too much for the old guy. "I'm thinking of giving him some of  Ed’s very good Smokehouse Fennel Wiggle to cheer him up. Of course, I won't tell him what it is," she giggled to herself, holding up the jar like a trophy. "Now you hush, too," she threatened. It should be noted that she was actually holding up a jar of Duane’s pretty good Smokehouse Coleslaw in a Jar. She too was never seen again . . .