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No one must know my terrible secret...

House of Noh!

Monday, May 30, 2005

For a few brief, tender moments last Friday, I thought I had found my salad twin. I was at the MacKelly’s [shamrock] Greens ‘n things. Please don’t tell anybody that I buy my lunch at a place that ends with “’n things.” Actually, I’ll go ahead and tell you what “n’ things” are at MacKelly’s: HUGE PIECES OF FRIED FISH. That, and like, au grautin potatoes and shit in long stainless steal trays on a big steamer table like the fucking Old County Buffet back in Portage, Michigan, where, with my co-workers at the adult foster care home, I used to take our charges in the special van for meals on fancy occasions and holidays. And BTW, I’m telling you right now if you eat at the OCB – sneeze shields do nothing. NOTHING. I got a booger in the public chicken gumbo tray and I wasn’t even trying.

But back to my salad twin. The MacKelly’s salad line was crowded so I was forced to take the inside track – bumping shoulders with the people buying huge pieces of fried fish and whatnot. On the outside track, right across from me on the other side of the salad bar was this wiry old dude – the kind of scrappy, gaunt, belt wearing old dude who’s always taking deep straining breaths through big horse nostrils and has big, strained, turtle tendons sticking out in his neck… you know the type. I noticed right away that he grabbed the same size salad box as me. Then he wanted spinach leaves as his leafy salad base, just like me, but I had the tongs first so he had to wait. And then I had to wait for the green pea tongs. He likes green peas too, I thought to myself as I waited for the tongs. This horse-nostril old dude with turtle neck tendons might be my salad twin. I watched him carefully after that. So I can say with confidence that he likes chickpeas on his salad too! He likes carrot shavings, and broccoli pieces, and kidney beans, just like me. Everything I like on my salad, this guy liked too. I was at the very end of the line, at the salad dressing with my hand on the spoon for the thousand island when the old dude paused right across from me. It’s true, I thought, he’s my salad twin! He’s waiting for the spoon because he likes the same dressing as me!

But it wasn’t true. He wasn’t waiting for the thousand island. He was looking for something else. He finally found it, not on the salad bar but on a little cart behind him. He didn’t even use salad dressing at all. He pours oil from a tiny little glass pitcher onto his salad. As I closed up my salad box I watched him from across the bar as he hoisted the little glass jug by its tiny little jug handle, and then, turtle neck tendons straining visibly from clavicle to up behind his ears, he ever-so-carefully poured a tiny little amount onto his salad. He’s not my salad twin! He’s a son-of-a-bitch!!