Tuesday, February 17, 2015


Reader: I wrote this nearly ten years ago.  Memories are wonderful, especially when you have written details of the event.  I have often wondered if the tow truck driver remembers his close encounter with killer sausages. --Marilyn

 Killer Hot Sausage!

While shopping in my local grocery store, I spied a package of home-made link sausages.  Emblazoned on the wrapper was a big red sticker bearing the words HOT!  Ever in search of home-made sausage like my Daddy used to make with just the right amount of hot pepper seasoning, I threw them in the cart.  I was very skeptical, however, because most sausages I had purchased in the past bearing a “Hot” label would turn out to be so mild a baby could eat them.

Having stayed awake Friday night until long after midnight, I awoke Saturday morning with a rumble in my stomach.  I quickly decided sausage biscuits would cure that.  I placed the sausage links in my cast iron skillet, poured in a little water, placed a lid on it, and went off to my bedroom to get dressed for the day.  A while later, I heard George choking and coughing uncontrollably.  This was no ordinary cough; it sounded pretty serious.  Thinking that he was coming down with some terrible influenza, I hurriedly dressed.  Emerging from the bedroom fresh and ready to face the day, I took one breath and began choking and coughing.  My lungs were searing.  There was no visible smoke, just a feeling I was inhaling a gas that was going to kill me.......a pepper gas!   George was busy opening windows and doors even though there was a torrential rain storm going on and yelled at me, “You went off and left me with those sausages to kill me!”

We both ran to the back door to get fresh air and there was a loud knock on the front door, which was standing wide open.  It was a rather young, but big and burly tow truck driver sent by AAA to pick up our van to take it to the shop.   Both George and I were still choking and coughing uncontrollably.  The tow trucker driver had a perplexed look on his face.  George said to him, “Come in out of the rain.”  Just as he stepped one foot inside the door, it appeared that his lungs exploded and his cough shook the house.  I yelled and made a mad dash across the room holding up both hands shouting, “No!  Don’t come in here!  The sausages will kill you!”  To make matters worse, our hound dog ran in through the back door straight for the front door, charging at the man with a bark that would wake the dead.  He backed up on the porch and said, “The rain doesn’t bother me; I just need the key M'am.” 

By the time he got the van loaded on his truck and returned with the receipt book, the crisis was almost over except for an occasional choking spasm.  George and I were happily eating our sausage biscuits with tears streaming down our face from the heat of the pepper.  In keeping with southern hospitality, I offered one to the tow truck driver.  “No thank you M’am.”

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