The first obvious change for him would be new clothing. Most of his shirts from The Gap matched the red color of his hands.

"Perhaps the earth-tone beiges are getting old after all," Frank thought. It never crossed his mind to try some greens, yellows and maybe even pink.

"Pink," he said dismissively out loud. "The guys modeling in magazines seemed to like pink, but it’s almost like a compromise, plus people would think I was gay!"

The second most obvious change for Frank would be the Band-Aids.

"Yes, the Band-Aids would be gone," he said with excitement. You see, a multitude of Band-Aids usually covered his left hand because when he eats tomatoes and tries to cut them, he has a hard time making out where the tomato is and instead cuts himself quite often. In fact a good chunk of Frank’s budget was going towards buying Band-Aids every month. He was even getting a volume discount (only on the red ones) from the corner pharmacy.

Frank spent the rest of the evening pondering all the wonderful ways his life would benefit from cleaning the blood off his hands. He eventually fell asleep with a big smile on his face, looking forward to meeting the short, bald guy who reminded him of George Constanza at next week’s "Let’s Feel Guilty Together" support meeting.

The rest of the week just flew by. Every day, Frank would think of new ways his life would benefit from having blood-stained-free hands. He had a hard time keeping himself from telling other people about this new super-secret stain-remover but the bald, short guy made him swear to keep it all secret under the penalty of never getting any from him.

Finally, the weekend was here. Frank virtually skipped all the way downtown, barely containing his enthusiasm. When he arrived, the short, bald guy who reminded him of George Constanza was already there, and had with him what looked like a large black metal case, handcuffed to his wrist. He called the "Let’s Feel Guilty Together" support meeting to order and informed everyone that his contact from Vegas came through with the promise to get him some stain-remover. And if that was not good enough, he had enough stain-remover for everybody! People were ecstatic; some were crying with joy, and others showed no emotion at all. Frank could tell that they were all happy one way or another, some like him, perhaps looking forward to going shopping for a new wardrobe, or putting some extra money into retirement.

There was one catch though. The short, bald guy said the stain-remover cost a lot of money. In fact, he opened the black metal case still cuffed to his wrist and took out a small lab vial full of a clear liquid and labeled with a strange writing, purportedly the blood-stain-remover.

"One thousand dollars," said the short, bald guy holding up the clear vial. "I know it sounds expensive, but it’s hard to get this stuff, and it is also dangerous," he continued. "I have contacts that risk a lot to get this substance to us, and we need to create and maintain some channels of distribution."

Frank was kind of surprised to hear how expensive the stain-remover was. He did not exactly have "money problems" but still, a thousands dollars was a lot of money. He did some quick, somewhat random mental calculation and decided it was all worth it so he stepped up to the short, bald guy and wrote him a check for the vial.

He couldn’t wait to get home to clean his hands, so Frank stepped out into the hallway, opened up the vial and poured it on his hands. Amazingly, the life-long blood stains came off completely! For the very first time in his life, Frank could see the color of the skin on his hands. When he got home, Frank took a tomato out of his fridge and again, for the first time in his life was able to cut it without cutting himself.

The very next day, Frank called in sick and went on a shopping spree. He bought himself a whole bunch of colorful shirts. It was so much easier to match colors now, and he found it kind of interesting that he looked differently than the other red-handed people wearing earth-tone shirts from The Gap.

Time passed on, and Frank noticed something strange happening to his hands. They were slowly turning blood-red again. The reason was beyond his understanding, but he knew a short, bald guy who reminded him of George Constanza who could get him the stuff for one thousand dollars a vial. It was expensive, but it was worth it. Clean hands made Frank feel better about himself, made him look better and gave him confidence. It was well worth it.

All was well, except one nagging thing: Frank wanted to share the stuff with his friends and family, but the short, bald man already told him he was not allowed to share it so Frank wanted to go talk to him one more time, hoping to change his mind. When he got there, the "Let’s Feel Guilty Together" support meeting was already in progress. Frank had to wait until everyone was done feeling guilty, then he approach the short, bald man who reminded him of George Constanza.

"Listen, my parents could really use this stuff," he said to the short, bald guy hoping that he will feel sorry for him and let him get extra stain-remover this time. "Think about it, at their age, would it not be nice for them to walk around with clean hands at least once before they die?"

"This stuff is not for everybody Frank, I already told you that," answered the irritated, short, bald man. "This stuff is dangerous and hard to handle, and not everyone is meant for it!"

Frank was getting annoyed now. He’s paid the short, bald guy thousands of dollars so far and he would expect some understanding and flexibility.

"Look, I’ve been paying you thousands of dollars so far for this stuff. All I am asking is that other people can benefit from it too. I mean, think about how boring the world is today with everyone wearing earth-tone shirts from The Gap!"

"I own stock in Johnson & Johnson, and their Band-Aids sales have been skyrocketing," said the now red-faced, angry, short, bald man. "If more people start using this stuff, my investments would suffer. I chose you as a customer, so why are you trying to stir things up now? You are in good standing with me Frank, don’t make me change my mind about you! Plus, many people out there like having blood-stained hands!"

Frank now got it. The short, bald guy who reminded him of George Constanza wanted people to have blood-stained hands! He was making money off the Band-Aid sales and the stain-remover! Frank was angry, very angry, but there was little he could do about it. He needed the stuff because it gave him confidence and pride, and it made it so much easier to cut tomatoes and match colors of shirts, so he swallowed his pride and apologized to the short, bald man as he poured the stain-remover on his hands to yet again clean them back to their true color.