It's been quite sometime since I wrote up a piece on a show we have done...About 5-6 years. I have been asked to write them up, but when I begin, I can't find the true passion. I love to write, and when something hits me right, it sets off a stream of conscious. Well, the NYC show was one of them. I give to you Part 1 (Day One) of : The 2nd Annual NYC Hot Sauce Expo, A DEFCON Perspective:
It was Thursday, March 27, 2014. The Defcon Crew had started its preliminary supplies check for the impending weekend of the 2nd Annual NYC Hot Sauce Expo that coming Saturday and Sunday. The Defcon Crew, well-seasoned in the ways of trade show protocol and combat, worked their ways through the various checklists with nearly effortless speed. No words were spoken amongst the crew, as their objective of survival and monetary gain was firmly ingrained into their psyche, and to focus on victory allows the individual the extra intestinal fortitude to attain that goal. Each knew their role in the impending battle, and their mental preparedness would allow them passage on the road of success.
The campaign was slated to begin on Friday, where the various supplies and gastronomical weaponry would be relocated from the Defcon Compound to the staging area within the halls of war, located across the street from Madison Square Garden. Headquarters was notified that the major supply line trucks would be dropping off a majority of compatriots gear and weaponry that day. Instead of dealing with the cluster-f*** at the docks, the Defcon Star Chamber held an emergency meeting, and through executive order, rescheduled the staging until Saturday morning. It seems the decision was a good one, as all dock conflict was avoided, and Defcon entered the military theater unobstructed, and began setting up our position. Our field position was spectacularly placed, being able to oversee all that entered the Expo from the assault point at the exit of the escalators. We soon realized, due to our positioning, we could make a massive and continual assault upon the psyche of the masses, from the minute they were deployed to the second floor, and for the duration of the campaign. Victory would be ours!
We had only a few short hours to set up, but having been well-versed in show setup over nearly a decade, the field position was prepared in record time. We decorated our position with many ribbons and trophies of past victories, which would act as a magnet to the Forces of Monetary Gain that would be arriving, en masse, shortly. As with all former battles, I continued the tradition, and headed downstairs for a final cigarette before the battle commenced. I looked upon the formations of the Forces of Monetary Gain, their pockets over-stuffed with the Currency of War, spoils we endeavor to relieve them of in the near future with our bottled weapons of gastronomic bliss. Their communal eyes looked upon me in shock and awe, as my uniform was not something they were expecting, and fear wracked the weak, as they had seen the premonition of gastronomical bliss entwined with gastronomical destruction, a visual horror not equaled but for Cthulu himself.
I tread upstairs, gathered the Defcon Inner Circle together, and took our positions. As if by the mighty horns of Valhalla, the Forces of Monetary Gain began the initial wave assault. The hoarde gathered at the top of the escalator, and many, as if by force of telepathy, turned away from the ensuing battle, and took refuge in the VIP Garden of Inebriation, and began imbibing mass quantities of fermented grain. This pleased the Defcon Crew, as their spending inhibitions will have wavered by the time they exit the Garden, and our monetary gain would be increased. Life is good.
As this was a new military theater for the show, none of the vendors knew exactly what to expect. Having set up our position the previous year in Brooklyn for the show, we kind of did, and had prepared for just this instance. Myself and Maggie had requested the aid of three formidable Defcon Acolytes. The first is known as Larry, a ruthless warrior upon the Battlefield of Retail. He had joined us for a few crusades at other shows, one in the southwest, I have forgotten its name, for it is ancient history for us. Larry, would be one line of defense for us. The second line of defense would bring to bear, the mightiest within the Defcon Continuum. Sages say these two Paragons of Virtue are more powerful than the Defcon Creator himself. This is truly possible, as they are the Creator’s Creators a.k.a. Mom & Dad. Our Army of Ultimate Victory was firmly in place, as if defending against the most evil denizens of Mordor. We will stand our ground against the horde!
The wave assault was upon us, our line must hold! The Forces of Monetary Gain descended upon us not unlike a locust horde of biblical proportion. We stayed our ground. At one point, I honestly remember yelling out, “This is Sparta!”, as the onlookers stared at me quizzically, as a cat does a bug on the wall. It did not matter, with each Square transaction that was completed, our inner strength grew. We would show no quarter! We fended off the Forces of Monetary Gain with our infamous gastronomical weaponry, at the same time gathering their Currency of War, filling our tills with life-giving monetary sustenance.
A few hours had passed on Saturday, and a trial was on the horizon, a trial of epic proportion, a trial of intestinal fortitude, literally. It was my job, and my job alone to find a Champion among the mortals upon the Deathmatch stage. The Knights of Eternal Darkness amassed upon the raised dais, each taking his/her place among the others. Maggie soon dealt out their trial, in the form of avian appendages. However, these were no normal avian appendages, as they had a strange “never before seen by the eyes of man” coating upon them. As the Knights stared at their meal, they could feel it staring back at them, ripping and shredding the fabric of courage deep within them. Let the trial begin!
The Knights tore into their meal, as if possessed. They gnashed their teeth with the resounding echo of pierced flesh and grinding bone. As they continued, the multitudes of onlookers could see some of the Knights armor begin to weaken. Some were quivering with the rapture of endorphin-based euphoria, their bodily fluids leaking out of the various orifices on their faces, while others saw the darkest side of the meal, and allowed it to consume them. One by one the Knights wavered and surrendered to the trial, and stepped back from the competition table, defeated. Others tested their own will against the darkness, and forged ahead, their internals now being torn asunder. This is what champions are made of. At the end of the day, one stood proud, Igor! Victory was his this day. He was crowned Champion by yours truly, and given the trophy to show the world.
Shortly after, I began getting intermittent intelligence reports of the Knights, who succumbed to the evil, spilling their guts in the mens room. My job complete, I reveled in their pain and suffering, absorbed their fear, and waded back through the masses of the Forces of Monetary Gain, and reached the Defcon Sauces encampment.
The Defcon forces, weary from the perpetual onslaught of human masses, stood firm, and continued their rushing retail-based assault. Our weapons systems worked perfectly, however, it seemed the ammunition was depleting at a much more accelerated rate than we had anticipated. We could not show the public an iota of concern, as we would be over-run by the wavelike masses. We stood our ground, and fought with the might only the Defcon Magnificent Five could muster. This day shall be ours! Three more hours had passed, which seemed like an eternity, but we held fast, our constitutions growing with every sight of the cash bag, which was now pulsating with the Heartbeat of Entrepreneurship, a rare phenomenon I haven’t seen in years of doing trade shows. Each pulse reflected an increased profit, something other large shows don’t normally offer. This was truly a sign of things to come. Premonitions came to me, I could not make out the forms, but throughout the premonitions a single flame burned throughout, as if trying to speak to me. What was it trying to say?
The clock struck 4, and it was time for The Event to begin. The Icons of Industry gathered in front of the hallowed stage. The tension in the air was thick, and droplets of toiled sweat could be seen falling from the brows of virtually all of the Industry Field Marshalls. It was time for the reckoning, when Champions are chosen by the Gods of Olympus themselves. The stillness in the air was palatable, but the silence was broken by The One, known as Steve Seabury. Twelve Champions would be chosen by his hand, paralleling a scene cut from the Highlander. The Field Marshalls lay in wait, praying they would hear their name called for the Glory of Glories, the Screaming Mimi Award. One by one, they were announced. Cheers of victory could be heard, amongst the sighs of those not chosen. The importance of this gathering could be tasted. It was then, as I stood firm, head held high, scenes of past glory flashing behind my gaze. It was then time, time for the Best Wing Sauce to be chosen, and the Field Marshall would have a crown made of laurel laid upon his head. As Steve began to announce the award winner, it seemed as if the words came out as slow as molasses off the tongue of a gargoyle in winter. It was then I heard a familiar name, it seems I was meant to rule this day, and casually walked upon the stage and gracefully accepted my award, amidst my primordial screams of victory. The day was won! This would be a day to remember, a day unlike any other. The previous premonitions had played out as the Fates portrayed.
With trophy in hand, I made my way, again through the masses, my strength regained. It was then that a being stood in front of me. This being was known to me. It was Merlin, known to many as Adam Fehr, from Endorphin Farms. He met me with open arms. It was he who was able to create our products, without error, and allow us to continue to formulate our plans of Global Assimilation. This is a true man amongst men, and his humbleness to many is astounding. He congratulated me, yet I had to reinforce to him that HE is the one that deserves recognition, but, as always, he refused to acknowledge this. So be it. It was now time for a beer. I consumed the inebriation device in record time, and resumed my station to fend off the Forces of Monetary Gain. Our weapons of gastronomical destruction were waning in number, as the weapon bins became critically low. The masses, by the stroke of 6 began to dwindle. The day had been won.
We entered the Defcon Urban Assault Vehicle and headed back to homebase, our victory still sweet upon our lips. I counted the take from the day on the way home. The happiness grew even stronger than before. Seems in my absence, the Defcon Troops had powered through the waves of Forces of Monetary Gain, and quelled them with silver tongue and slight of hand. It was no wonder we had to restock all of our weapons of gastronomical destruction for the next day, as we would be without our powerful allies tomorrow. It would be myself and the all-powerful Maggie manning the booth alone, against the horde. We feasted on a food called Wendy’s on the ride home, and slept well knowing we had accomplished everything we set out for on this day. We knew, in our souls, that tomorrow’s battle was inevitable, and that our very being would be tested yet again. Bring it on!
(To Be Continued...)
It was Thursday, March 27, 2014. The Defcon Crew had started its preliminary supplies check for the impending weekend of the 2nd Annual NYC Hot Sauce Expo that coming Saturday and Sunday. The Defcon Crew, well-seasoned in the ways of trade show protocol and combat, worked their ways through the various checklists with nearly effortless speed. No words were spoken amongst the crew, as their objective of survival and monetary gain was firmly ingrained into their psyche, and to focus on victory allows the individual the extra intestinal fortitude to attain that goal. Each knew their role in the impending battle, and their mental preparedness would allow them passage on the road of success.
The campaign was slated to begin on Friday, where the various supplies and gastronomical weaponry would be relocated from the Defcon Compound to the staging area within the halls of war, located across the street from Madison Square Garden. Headquarters was notified that the major supply line trucks would be dropping off a majority of compatriots gear and weaponry that day. Instead of dealing with the cluster-f*** at the docks, the Defcon Star Chamber held an emergency meeting, and through executive order, rescheduled the staging until Saturday morning. It seems the decision was a good one, as all dock conflict was avoided, and Defcon entered the military theater unobstructed, and began setting up our position. Our field position was spectacularly placed, being able to oversee all that entered the Expo from the assault point at the exit of the escalators. We soon realized, due to our positioning, we could make a massive and continual assault upon the psyche of the masses, from the minute they were deployed to the second floor, and for the duration of the campaign. Victory would be ours!
We had only a few short hours to set up, but having been well-versed in show setup over nearly a decade, the field position was prepared in record time. We decorated our position with many ribbons and trophies of past victories, which would act as a magnet to the Forces of Monetary Gain that would be arriving, en masse, shortly. As with all former battles, I continued the tradition, and headed downstairs for a final cigarette before the battle commenced. I looked upon the formations of the Forces of Monetary Gain, their pockets over-stuffed with the Currency of War, spoils we endeavor to relieve them of in the near future with our bottled weapons of gastronomic bliss. Their communal eyes looked upon me in shock and awe, as my uniform was not something they were expecting, and fear wracked the weak, as they had seen the premonition of gastronomical bliss entwined with gastronomical destruction, a visual horror not equaled but for Cthulu himself.
I tread upstairs, gathered the Defcon Inner Circle together, and took our positions. As if by the mighty horns of Valhalla, the Forces of Monetary Gain began the initial wave assault. The hoarde gathered at the top of the escalator, and many, as if by force of telepathy, turned away from the ensuing battle, and took refuge in the VIP Garden of Inebriation, and began imbibing mass quantities of fermented grain. This pleased the Defcon Crew, as their spending inhibitions will have wavered by the time they exit the Garden, and our monetary gain would be increased. Life is good.
As this was a new military theater for the show, none of the vendors knew exactly what to expect. Having set up our position the previous year in Brooklyn for the show, we kind of did, and had prepared for just this instance. Myself and Maggie had requested the aid of three formidable Defcon Acolytes. The first is known as Larry, a ruthless warrior upon the Battlefield of Retail. He had joined us for a few crusades at other shows, one in the southwest, I have forgotten its name, for it is ancient history for us. Larry, would be one line of defense for us. The second line of defense would bring to bear, the mightiest within the Defcon Continuum. Sages say these two Paragons of Virtue are more powerful than the Defcon Creator himself. This is truly possible, as they are the Creator’s Creators a.k.a. Mom & Dad. Our Army of Ultimate Victory was firmly in place, as if defending against the most evil denizens of Mordor. We will stand our ground against the horde!
The wave assault was upon us, our line must hold! The Forces of Monetary Gain descended upon us not unlike a locust horde of biblical proportion. We stayed our ground. At one point, I honestly remember yelling out, “This is Sparta!”, as the onlookers stared at me quizzically, as a cat does a bug on the wall. It did not matter, with each Square transaction that was completed, our inner strength grew. We would show no quarter! We fended off the Forces of Monetary Gain with our infamous gastronomical weaponry, at the same time gathering their Currency of War, filling our tills with life-giving monetary sustenance.
A few hours had passed on Saturday, and a trial was on the horizon, a trial of epic proportion, a trial of intestinal fortitude, literally. It was my job, and my job alone to find a Champion among the mortals upon the Deathmatch stage. The Knights of Eternal Darkness amassed upon the raised dais, each taking his/her place among the others. Maggie soon dealt out their trial, in the form of avian appendages. However, these were no normal avian appendages, as they had a strange “never before seen by the eyes of man” coating upon them. As the Knights stared at their meal, they could feel it staring back at them, ripping and shredding the fabric of courage deep within them. Let the trial begin!
The Knights tore into their meal, as if possessed. They gnashed their teeth with the resounding echo of pierced flesh and grinding bone. As they continued, the multitudes of onlookers could see some of the Knights armor begin to weaken. Some were quivering with the rapture of endorphin-based euphoria, their bodily fluids leaking out of the various orifices on their faces, while others saw the darkest side of the meal, and allowed it to consume them. One by one the Knights wavered and surrendered to the trial, and stepped back from the competition table, defeated. Others tested their own will against the darkness, and forged ahead, their internals now being torn asunder. This is what champions are made of. At the end of the day, one stood proud, Igor! Victory was his this day. He was crowned Champion by yours truly, and given the trophy to show the world.
Shortly after, I began getting intermittent intelligence reports of the Knights, who succumbed to the evil, spilling their guts in the mens room. My job complete, I reveled in their pain and suffering, absorbed their fear, and waded back through the masses of the Forces of Monetary Gain, and reached the Defcon Sauces encampment.
The Defcon forces, weary from the perpetual onslaught of human masses, stood firm, and continued their rushing retail-based assault. Our weapons systems worked perfectly, however, it seemed the ammunition was depleting at a much more accelerated rate than we had anticipated. We could not show the public an iota of concern, as we would be over-run by the wavelike masses. We stood our ground, and fought with the might only the Defcon Magnificent Five could muster. This day shall be ours! Three more hours had passed, which seemed like an eternity, but we held fast, our constitutions growing with every sight of the cash bag, which was now pulsating with the Heartbeat of Entrepreneurship, a rare phenomenon I haven’t seen in years of doing trade shows. Each pulse reflected an increased profit, something other large shows don’t normally offer. This was truly a sign of things to come. Premonitions came to me, I could not make out the forms, but throughout the premonitions a single flame burned throughout, as if trying to speak to me. What was it trying to say?
The clock struck 4, and it was time for The Event to begin. The Icons of Industry gathered in front of the hallowed stage. The tension in the air was thick, and droplets of toiled sweat could be seen falling from the brows of virtually all of the Industry Field Marshalls. It was time for the reckoning, when Champions are chosen by the Gods of Olympus themselves. The stillness in the air was palatable, but the silence was broken by The One, known as Steve Seabury. Twelve Champions would be chosen by his hand, paralleling a scene cut from the Highlander. The Field Marshalls lay in wait, praying they would hear their name called for the Glory of Glories, the Screaming Mimi Award. One by one, they were announced. Cheers of victory could be heard, amongst the sighs of those not chosen. The importance of this gathering could be tasted. It was then, as I stood firm, head held high, scenes of past glory flashing behind my gaze. It was then time, time for the Best Wing Sauce to be chosen, and the Field Marshall would have a crown made of laurel laid upon his head. As Steve began to announce the award winner, it seemed as if the words came out as slow as molasses off the tongue of a gargoyle in winter. It was then I heard a familiar name, it seems I was meant to rule this day, and casually walked upon the stage and gracefully accepted my award, amidst my primordial screams of victory. The day was won! This would be a day to remember, a day unlike any other. The previous premonitions had played out as the Fates portrayed.
With trophy in hand, I made my way, again through the masses, my strength regained. It was then that a being stood in front of me. This being was known to me. It was Merlin, known to many as Adam Fehr, from Endorphin Farms. He met me with open arms. It was he who was able to create our products, without error, and allow us to continue to formulate our plans of Global Assimilation. This is a true man amongst men, and his humbleness to many is astounding. He congratulated me, yet I had to reinforce to him that HE is the one that deserves recognition, but, as always, he refused to acknowledge this. So be it. It was now time for a beer. I consumed the inebriation device in record time, and resumed my station to fend off the Forces of Monetary Gain. Our weapons of gastronomical destruction were waning in number, as the weapon bins became critically low. The masses, by the stroke of 6 began to dwindle. The day had been won.
We entered the Defcon Urban Assault Vehicle and headed back to homebase, our victory still sweet upon our lips. I counted the take from the day on the way home. The happiness grew even stronger than before. Seems in my absence, the Defcon Troops had powered through the waves of Forces of Monetary Gain, and quelled them with silver tongue and slight of hand. It was no wonder we had to restock all of our weapons of gastronomical destruction for the next day, as we would be without our powerful allies tomorrow. It would be myself and the all-powerful Maggie manning the booth alone, against the horde. We feasted on a food called Wendy’s on the ride home, and slept well knowing we had accomplished everything we set out for on this day. We knew, in our souls, that tomorrow’s battle was inevitable, and that our very being would be tested yet again. Bring it on!
(To Be Continued...)
