So my brother gives me a simple request: to bring him some Tapatio hot sauce. This is in March, a few months before I head out to visit him in Sweden in June. Clearly, I must act quickly since I am crunched for time. The responsible fellow would have gone to the Mercado and procured the hot sauce the next day. A bolder man would wait a few weeks. I, on the other hand, am bold enough to wait until the last minute. Procrastination is an art form, mastered only by a select few. Keep in mind as each day passed since my brother's request, I had been afflicted by several ills and woes of misfortune. In addition to my brave procrastination, from April through May  I acquired hangovers regularly, had paralyzing hay fever, some unknown flu-like illness, short-term memory loss, and an angry case of poison oak.
I arranged for my friend Geoff to drop me off at SFO, so I was at his house still in need of the Tapatio 2 hours before the flight (The airport is ten minutes from his house). There is a supermarket nearby, a Safeway. I went there at 11:30 and ducked inside to avoid the woman outside trying to get people to register to vote. Whew! Those people will commandeer you all day if you let them.
I strolled into the store and inspected the aisles. I walked to the section where Tapatio was most likely to be. And, I couldn't find the shit. I got a little nervous. Then I walked to a different aisle, reassuring myself that what I was experiencing was some momentary blindness. This made me feel better and I relaxed. I returned to aisle nine where the Mexican food section was. I discovered that my eyes were not lying to me. There was no Tapatio there! @%$&#! I asked someone who worked there about the hot sauce. This person looked at me like I was on dope. So that was an utter failure.
I considered the option of just flaking on the Tapatio altogether. Then I thought of what my brother might say and how he'd react. No matter what I would say, he'd return with, “Steve. I gave you one simple request. You had months, not days, not weeks, but months. I ask you not to forget, I remind you a dozen times. All you had to do was get some Tapatio. I bet you waited until the last minute, went to one place, and couldn't find it. So you gave up. ‘Oh well, screw Morgan' , right?” My ears began to burn since I know this is exactly how it would go. I started to sweat and shake at the thought of having to endure three weeks in Europe with my brother giving me shit because I failed to come through. Not again!
My situation was looking quite hopeless with my jelly-like nerves not helping one bit. At this point you may ask if I began to panic. You damn right I did! On top of that, the woman trying to register people to vote accosted me. She was courageously crusading for pigeon's equal rights. It was a Wednesday, during the summer. My first thought was this lady has too much time on her hands, which was an accurate conjecture. She droned trying to make me feel guilty, attempting to reach the conscious that I didn't have. She was unrelenting, so I snapped and threw a bunch of birdseed  (where did the birdseed come from?  Was she some kind of bag lady and did she hand it to you?) at her in defiance of her cause.
I returned to Geoff's at high noon. I was near ready to drop a serious conniption fit. Geoff was busy trying to close a $15 million dollar communications contract with a major investor. He was young like myself, certainly not qualified to bargain with bigwigs. Of course, I was a major distraction right then over his conference call.  The clients could here me pacing around his house, and I was making them nervous.
Geoff assessed my situation and we went straight to DefCon 5.
“Look Gentlemen, are we gonna do business or what? My friend is here and he is about to throw a mental. And, you guys are jerking me around. Just do the goddamn deal and give me more money while you are at it!”
A moment later, Geoff closes the deal for $16.5 million, a little extra thrown in for his troubles. Then he packed me into the Wagoneer so I could spaz out without bothering him. I was panicking, shaking, sweating, crying (don't tell anyone that part I don't want anyone thinking that I am a wimp) and convulsing. I began turning white and clammy. I was going into shock. We sped around the San Francisco for a while trying to come up with a solution. To pass time and calm my nerves, he ran down a few pedestrians. The sidewalk on Market Street was crowded before we decided to drive on it. The pedestrians quickly shot left and right of the oncoming Wagoneer.
At this point I was sweating profusely. Buckets of sweat, I tell you.
“Maybe, you need to write an apology letter?” Geoff threw out of left field.
No dice. That wouldn't work. True to form, Geoff, Mr. Path of Least Resistance, attempted to make the situation a bit easier for himself. This was a weak attempt. Sure, it was my responsibility, but he was there for backup and if he failed all would be lost. After sensing my active anxiety, Geoff blurted out, “Call Rob.”
We both knew that this would be an equally inept attempt at success. Our friend, Rob, would bring nothing to the table for our dilemma. Rob was worse than useless,  “I think my aunt has some, but she lives in LA.”
I went nuclear. 
“Pass me the cigarettes,” Geoff asked shaking.  I was hyperventilating and doubly disgusted because cigarettes are repugnant and cause cancer.  I wished he would get cancer. He sighed loudly and said, “I can't handle this pressure.”
Finally, Geoff thought of going to a different store. What a great idea! Who would have guessed? He was proud of himself. I would have thought of that too, but I was in a schizophrenic induced panicked frenzy. On the way to a large Mercado Geoff knew about on the other end of San Francisco, we stopped for gas. Across the street was a small Latino grocery. Since, I was temporarily paralyzed from the neck down; I authorized Geoff to attempt to purchase some Tapatio. At precisely 1:29 in the pm, Geoffrey Birnes paid a buck-oh-nine for a bottle of Tapatio.
As I saw him wave the bottle over his head shouting, “Tapatio!” I was instantly relieved.  I reflected on our prior dilemma. I reveled at the thought of my heroics (ok fine, Geoff's heroics). Cooler heads had prevailed. Panic as it turned out was unnecessary.
My brother, Morgan, picked me up at the airport. Gloriously, filled with brotherly love, I gently handed him the precious bottle of Tapatio.  Eagerly I anticipated the long awaited adulation of my brother's affections.
He mumbled, “What's this for?”

Contact Steve: Steve.Snyder@hazelst.com