It all happened on a dark, gloomy, and dull day in the midst of winter in Chicago. It was a bad work day for me because I ran into a wall like a bird flies into a window. Then I spilt hot coffee all over myself, so I smelt like day old coffee grounds. Later when I walked outside for some air I saw my cherry red, 2013, Ford Mustang was being towed. I watched it as it bumped down the busy street chained to a rusty, flashing tow truck.

Now I had the choice to either get a gruesome taxi or walk twenty blocks in the repulsive weather. After a lot of consideration I chose the sloppy, messy, unsanitary taxi. I knew I was going to regret this decision because a taxi is a germaphobes greatest nightmare. Standing on the curb I mourned the loss of my clean and tidy, 100% germ free car. I pulled my white pressed handkerchief from my breast pocket and shook it in the air attempting to get a taxi. After a million years a car finally stopped. Using my handkerchief I opened the door and crawled into the back seat trying not to touch anything. I immediately cracked opened the window to let the stale stench out. Glancing down I noticed a umbrella with very bright and vibrant colors. So I picked it up and told the driver there was a umbrella left behind. He told me to give it to him. I leaned forward to pass it through the hole that divides the back seat from the front seat and that is when I saw them. 

I had no idea what they were. All I knew is there were several jars of some sort of red liquid sitting in the front seat. As soon as the taxi driver saw me looking at them he quickly moved his very scrawny arms and picked up the jars and put them under the rotten seats. At that moment I noticed the drivers appearance; he had a vulgar face with a very deranged look, his eyes were like a never ending black hole that sucked you in if you dared to look at them and his hair was like a brown rug that hadn’t be shaken in a long time. When I came back to reality the strange driver said in an oddly high voice with a sarcastic smile,’’ Hello, I am Mr. Fer nandez but please call me Victor. Now where can I take you sir.’’ I nervously stated,’’ Main Street please.’’ As soon as we started driving this odd man that was taking me to my house started crying. As I was still in the corner of the back seat, trying not to touch anything, I thought to myself,’’ What would Clark Kent do?’’ I came up with the conclusion, he would investigate this. But again I heard the soft sobs coming from the driver. At the next stop Victor wiped his tears and then openly cried as he looked very disapprovingly at his hands. As he turned around to give an explanation I jumped out of the car faster than you could say, strawberries. As I wiped off all of the snow I had just rolled in, I wrote down the license plate of the cab. I ran home as fast as I could so I didn’t have to feel bad for all those people who lived lived on the unhygienic streets.

When I got home I looked up the license plate of the strange cab on the internet. I found an address that was just ten minutes away. So I decided to make a plan to confront this murderer. The plan was to have a nice bowl of spaghetti then head out around 8:45.

Before I left my house I left, a note on my counter saying,’’ If you are reading this note and wondering where I am, keep reading. I left my house at 8:30, 1/19/2011 and went to investigate a crime scene at the taxi warehouse down the road. - Sam Wooden

Once I got there I played Angry Birds on my phone for ten minutes, then it died. I made the realization that I was in a dangerous place. I started wondering,’’ Why didn’t I charge my phone? Why do I care if this man is a murderer? Why did I have to investigate? Should I go home and forget this ever happened?’’ as soon as I finished my thought the garage slowly rose to the ceiling. As that barbarian slithered into the grimy garage my blood pressure started doing jumping jacks. Victor got out of the car and went into the back of the warehouse carrying all the jars and a huge butcher’s knife.

I nervously creeped behind him. As I got to the doorway he had already begun his procedure. I heard him openly crying again and I heard the knife clicking on a hard surface. ‘’Click, click, click ‘’. ‘’ My time to confront this monster’’ I told myself.

I rambled forward and asked this excuse of a man if he truly was a murderer. As soon as I said this I regretted it. He slowly turned around exposing his unshaven, blotchy face. Tears were trickling down his face. I could tell he was struggling just to stand up. He was holding a knife sharper than the highest point on the Eiffel Tower. I straightened my back to seem like I had no fear. Really there was no way to measure how much fear was inside of me.

In the high voice I heard In the car he said,’’ Of course not. So I very quietly  asked what he was cutting. He responded in sort of a hurt voice,’’ onions and peppers for my salsa.’’ It  all made sense now. I let my shoulders kind of sag down because I didn’t feel like I was in the presence murderer. I had a lot of other questions to ask.

I could tell he was very hurt by my false accusations, but I had to get answers. I started by asking,’’ Why are you making it here, and what was that red liquid in the passengers seat?’’ He said,’’ I’m here because my very own MOTHER kicked me out of her basement because apparently a 38 year old man shouldn’t live with their mothers. For some reason she thinks I’m a taxi driver who has no friends and apparently need a real life, so I chose to make salsa and the red liquids were salsa samples… want one?’’ I shook my head still thinking something was awry.’’ One more question, why were you crying and looking at your hands like they did something you didn’t approve of?’’ He replied saying,’’ Right before I picked you up I had cut some onions. And I looked at my hands funny because I forgot to wash them.’’

I now felt dreadful for accusing this more than innocent man of murder, my heart yelled at my tongue to apologize and my tongue instantly obliged. I said in a soft voice,’’ I’m so sorry, is there any way I can make up for this misunderstanding.’’ He said,’’ No apologies necessary… wait I guess there is one thing you might be able to do for me. Do you have a kitchen?’’ I said,’’ Of course.’’ can I use it for a month, TOPS?’’ I quickly thought this over. I made a list in my brain,’’Positives: this man that is capable of many won’t hate me. I won’t feel bad. It’s the nice thing to do. Negatives: A stranger will be in my kitchen.’’ I boldly said,’’ Sure.’’  

After just three weeks Victor approached me when I get home and shouted,’’ I’ve got it, I’ve finally got it!’’ I was very baffled,’’ What did you get?’’ He was jumping up and down with his scrawny little legs, and his smile was bigger than the moon. For the first time I saw his teeth, they were brown and starting to rot, but that didn’t matter right now,’’ The recipe, I got the recipe!’’

I tried the salsa, it was like several angels made it with their own hands. I decided to leave my job and help pursue Victor’s new dream. It was the best choice I ever made. We talked to the owners of the local grocery store,’’ The Food Place. We talked to the owners and decided they get 33% percent of the profit we make.

Within a month our salsa was the number one most bought thing at a grocery store in Illinois. As soon as we got that title the Pick N’ Save brach called us wanting to make a deal. They wanted our salsa, which we named Spicy Mama’s on their national branch. Obviously we agreed. In our eyes we were in the salsa major leagues.

Today even though we are older than the sun, Spicy Mamas is still the number two salsa on the global market after Foxy Amigos. Now Victor and I are best friends and are inseparable.

Last year Victor’s mom called begging him for forgiveness and telling him how legendary he is. She told him that he had split pea waiting for him. He didn’t care, he was with me now.