One Little Whiff of ‘Fearless’ Nearly Left Him Speechless

I frequently receive samples of new products in the mail--nothing expensive, usually some trinket or novelty, a mouthwash, a miniature flashlight--that some entrepreneur is hoping to get some attention for.

Usually I toss them aside. I have more gadgets than anyone needs. And I can never find them when I need them.

The other day, though, I received a thing that aroused my interest. It was a little cylinder, about three inches long, in a leather case. It had a spray head on it.

The accompanying literature said it was a defensive weapon, designed to protect women, primarily, from abusive mates, rapists and muggers. It contained a liquid made of cayenne peppers, and was said to be more effective and less dangerous than Mace. It was called Fearless.

The blurbs pointed out the prevalence of domestic violence, rape and other assaults against women and explained that a shot of Fearless, aimed at the attacker’s face, would throw him into a seizure of coughing and blinding mucous effusions that would put him out of action for 30 minutes. There would, however, be no lasting ill effects.

I was about to toss it, believing (1) that I was not likely to be attacked, not being very attractive, and (2) that if, indeed, such an emergency were to occur, I would probably be unable to find my Fearless cartridge in time to defend myself. I could imagine searching in my pockets while the mugger stood there dumbly.

I thought, though, that maybe I ought to show it to my wife. She is a woman, and thus more vulnerable than I. However, she is certainly safe from me. In 52 years of marriage I have never struck her, though I’ll admit there were one or two times when I was tempted. There was the time about 40 years ago, for example, when she threw a bowl of hot split pea soup in my face. (Oddly, she says she doesn’t remember it.) Anyway, I had said something to her so provocative that she was justified. I did not strike back.

Not only has she nothing to fear from me, but she has a profound belief in her own invulnerability. She really believes that nothing bad can happen to her. Even when she lost her wallet in Orlando, Fla., a young man found it and returned it to her.

When she came home I put the cartridge in her hand and gave her the literature, saying, “You might be interested in this.”

A few minutes later she came into my office, the cartridge in her right hand. “What do you do?” she asked. “Just push the plunger?”

“Forget it,” I said. “You’d never be able to find it in time.”

She showed me a brass ring on the end of the leather case. “You’re supposed to keep it on your key chain,” she said. “Then you always have your key chain in your hand when you walk toward your car.”

“It probably doesn’t even work,” I said.

“Is this the way you do it?” she asked. She held the cartridge out in front of her and squeezed the plunger. A white cloud of spray ballooned out into the room from the snout of the cartridge.

“My God!” I shouted. “What are you doing!”

Though I was about eight feet away from her, in my chair, I immediately began to cough and choke. My eyes watered. I couldn’t breathe. I began to protest in choking gasps. “My God! You’ve killed me!”

She looked at the thing in her hand. “You’re just putting me on,” she said.

I got out of my chair and staggered out of the room, still choking and wheezing. “You’re always coughing,” she said.

“Are you crazy?” I cried. “I don’t cough like this. I tell you, you’ve poisoned me. I’m dying.”

She followed me out of the room. “I might be able to use it after all,” she said.

Ten minutes later I walked back into my office. She followed me. We both began to cough. The spray was still in the air.

“Now do you believe me?” I said.

She’s fascinated by the gadget. But I predict she’ll never use it. She’ll get tired of carrying it on her key chain. And if she puts it in her purse she won’t be able to find it in time to protect herself. I can see her saying to some mugger, “Just hold it. I’ve got something in here--it was here just yesterday.” It sometimes takes her 10 minutes to find her lipstick.

What worries me the most, though, is that she might find some pretext for using it on me, now that she knows it works, and that it is, in the end, harmless.

It would certainly be a lot more effective than a bowl of split pea soup.