Chapter 8: The Storks Return to Eastern Washington

This is a strange chapter for me to be writing. Alice and I didn’t have children so I never had to get into conversations concerning the “birds and the bees.” Not even with Alice. Now, that wasn’t bad at all. Many men my age complain that their wives have lost interest, but I never had any complaints in that department, as far as Alice was concerned, at the time this story unfolds. However, at the time I’m writing this book the “new” Alice was around and she took some getting used to, but when I did---wow--, but all that is story that I tell in a later chapter, which you will certainly not want your kids to read. We never talked about it at that time (things are way different now), or learned about it for that matter, but we took to it right away and never looked back. So to write about a topic that at the time I didn’t discuss with anyone does seem a little strange. I was going to write about spring in our new house, but lots of people move into new houses and have first springs in them. With that being what it may, two things happened in the spring that are strange enough that I thought you might be interested in them. They are so different from each other that I probably shouldn’t lump them together in the same chapter, but I’m going to do it anyway since each story wouldn’t fill a whole chapter on its own. 

About around April, when finally my snowplow was put away for the winter, I noticed that Alice was wearing a button on her coat that had a white stork on it. When I looked closer I noticed that it small letters it said, “Return of the Storks.” I didn’t say anything right off, since I was working on my notes and didn’t want to get into a long conversation. It sounded to me like the title of a science fiction movie, like “Return of the Jedi,” but Alice wasn’t much for science fiction movies. I mulled it around in my head for a few days without coming to any conclusions. I didn’t think that Eastern Washington had white storks like the one shown on the button. The stork looked like the kind that I’ve seen in children’s books, you know, what you might see building a giant nest on top of someone’s chimney. Well, a few days later Alice was washing and I was drying the dishes. It seemed like as good a time to ask about the stork button as any. Now I’ll switch to historical mode to relate our conversation. 

Me: ‘Nice button on your coat.’

Alice: ‘Huh?’ (Something was up as she never uses “huh” as a word)

Me: ‘The one with the stork on it.’

Alice: ‘Oh, the one with the stork on it.’

Me: ‘Yeah.’

Alice: ‘The white stork?’

Me: ‘The white stork.’

Alice: ‘What about it?’

Me: ‘What’s it for, some wildlife thing?’

Alice: ‘We’re protecting our children.’

Me: ‘From a stork?’

Alice: ‘No, from concerns.’

Me: ‘How’s that?’

Alice: ‘Children need to be left alone to enjoy their childhood. They don’t need to be learning adult things too early in life. They grow up too fast today as it is, with TV and all.’

Me: ‘What adult things?’

Alice: ‘Adult things.’

Me: ‘Adult things in general, or did you have any specific adult thing in mind?’

I have to break into the conversation in order to explain what was going on. As I already told you, Alice and I never had any conversations about sex. I don’t remember the “old”Alice ever even saying the word. What I didn’t know at this point was that the adult thing that Alice was talking about was not any old adult thing, but the mother of adult things, sex. If I would have known this I would have realized why she couldn’t seem to answer me. You see, every time she tried to say the word “sex” it wouldn’t come out. Her brain was saying it, but someplace between her brain and mouth it got lost. There’s nerves that runs between your brain and your mouth. When the brain thinks of something to say, it doesn’t get said immediately, but starts down the nerves. I like to think of these nerves as a train track. I picture little men sitting along the track in front of the switches watching the words go by them. They all keep their hands on levers that are connected to the switches. If they see something go by that shouldn’t be said, they can pull the lever and switch the words onto a siding. There are a lot of these little men in a row along the track so if something shouldn’t be said there is a good chance it will be switched off before it comes out of the mouth. I’m going to digress here because my theory (opps, theories were against the law), or rather this idea, explains a lot of things and it deserves its own paragraph. After this, I’ll continue relating Alice and my conversation that took place as we were doing dishes.

Did you ever wonder why when people are drunk they say things that they would never say when sober? My idea explains that. Normally the little men at the switches are really alert, watching for words to go by that should be waylaid before they get to the mouth, when, of course, it is too late to call them back. But, when people drink, the little men also get drunk. They try to pull the switches, but their reaction time slows down. By the time they pull the levers to switch the words, the words have already zoomed by them. Nothing is more pathetic than these drunken little men, struggling to switch the words, hands slipping off of the levers, falling into each other. 

After being on the job for awhile the little men get used to what words might cause trouble. This varies, depending on whose brain the little men are working in. My little men are on the lookout for the name of my brother-in-law, which is Harry (who made the monkey theory plausible in my mind). Chances are, if I’m talking to Alice and the word “Harry” starts down the track, whatever sentence “Harry” is in should be switched to a siding and left there. Of course, my little men are smart enough to know the difference between “Harry” as in Harry Truman and “Harry” as in my brother-in-law. Harry Truman makes it down the track just fine, except if I’m talking to Ike. In that case the little men are smart enough to switch the words off of the main track. You might be thinking, why is it that even if we are not drunk we sometimes blurt out something that we know we shouldn’t have said the minute it comes out of our mouth? You see, the words get switched to a siding that sits along the main track to the mouth. They sit there while the foreman of the little men checks with the brain to see if the brain insists on switching the words back onto the main line. The brain always has the last word, but this way the brain gets a chance to reconsider. If the little men think the brain is making a really bad decision the foreman might say something to the brain like, “It’s your call, but we’re washing our hands of this one,” or something to that effect. Very rarely will one of the little men, or maybe the foreman who is acting on his own, will switch the words onto a dead-end track. I think that is what happens to Alice when the word “sex” comes down the track. She has a defective little man that never lets the word “sex“ pass by, even if the brain tries to overrule him. Keep this picture in mind as I restart the relating of our conversation, because it explains a lot about how Alice was acting.

Alice: ‘Learning about ....’

Me: ‘About ...?’

Alice: ‘You know, ....’

Me: ‘Oh. About ....’

Alice: ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.’

Me: ‘So why the stork?’

Alice: ‘Every child under twelve that asks where babies come from will be told the stork brings them.’

Me: ‘The stork on the button.’

Alice: ‘Yes, dummy, the stork on the button.’

Me: ‘Every child?’

Alice: ‘It’s the law. It was just passed on the Eastside. You would know that if you got your nose out of you notes and read the paper once in a while.’

Me: ‘And what about over twelve?’

Alice: ‘The new law is very clear on that also. Every person over twelve will abstain from ... until they are married.’

Me: ‘By law?’

Alice: ‘By law. When they receive a marriage license, they will be given a pamphlet to read explaining everything they need to know about ....’

Me: ‘Oh.’

Alice: ‘Not every couple will get a license either. We’re going to be really careful who we let marry. Only couples of a man and woman need apply, and they will need a letter from a doctor stating approval.’

Me: ‘No ... for everyone else?’

Alice: ‘Nope, if they do they will be breaking the law.’

Me: ‘Do we get a pamphlet?’

Alice: ‘What for?’

I’m breaking in again because I want to tell you what I was thinking at the time. I thought a pamphlet might be nice to have. After all, maybe Alice and I were missing something, or weren’t doing it right. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell that to Alice. I wanted to, but my little men along the track kept switching the words to a siding. The other thing that I wanted to say was, “Ike must have forgotten about Prohibition.” But, as always, the little men were watching out for my welfare and pulling the right levers. So our conversation ended this way.

Me: ‘Oh, no reason really – just to add a copy to my notes for historical reasons. Why don’t we finish up and go for a walk along the brook before dark? It’s a nice evening.’

Alice: ‘I’ll get my coat.’

That was the end of the first and last conversation Alice and I ever had about sex (until we did, which is in a later chapter). I did get a copy of the pamphlet, but it was a dud in the sex department. I expected a “how to” pamphlet, but it was more of a “how don’t.” Before I finish up on this part of the story I want to relate something that my Uncle Jim told me about sex that I think Ike should know, and it explains a lot about why it’s in its own department in the brain. If I have time before I finish this book I’ll tell you about my “non-theory” of the brain and how it is like a store similar to Costco. Every category has its own space in Costco, but they are all in one giant room. But, the fresh produce is in its own department in the far corner of the store. The sex department in the brain is the fresh produce section. The brain keeps that department isolated and cooled down. Occasionally the cooling system fails, like in Costco. Then there is a rush to sell it all before it spoils. Well, enough of that. I’ll tell you my non-theory if there’s room in a future chapter. 

When I was about thirteen I wanted to ask my parents about the birds and the bees, but I was too embarrassed. My Uncle Jim was in his twenties, so I thought that he would be easier to talk to, being closer to my age and all. The opportunity came that summer when we were painting his dad’s barn. When I asked him, he said that I could learn just as well on my own like I had painting. “Nothing like learning on the job” was one of his favorite sayings. After he told me that he said a strange thing: that everything I needed to learn was given in the McDonald’s theory of sex. I’m using the word theory, because those were his words at the time and teaching theories was not outlawed yet. Anyway here is his McDonald’s theory of sex as best as I can remember it.

 A man walks into McDonald’s, orders his meal and sits down to eat. An attractive woman is eating at the table next to him. When she gets up to leave, she offers him the third of her Big Mac that she didn’t finish. Not wanting to offend an attractive woman he thanks her, but as soon as she leaves he throws her leftovers in the garbage. The thought of eating a stranger’s leftovers, even an attractive stranger, makes him nauseas.

The same man walks into a bar that evening. He sits down across from an attractive woman that he recognizes as the same woman that was in McDonalds earlier. Now, it is important to remember that the thought of eating her leftovers made him gag. They get to talking. She invites him over to her place. The same germs that he couldn’t stand earlier he is more than happy to swallow in the evening. The last thing my uncle said on that subject was, “Go figure.”

Now, like I said, I’m now going to tell you about the second strange thing that happened to us in the spring that I thought you would like to know about. It is what happened, or more like what we saw on a trip to town in May. It was a beautiful spring day, so we thought we (Alice and I) would go into Spokane for dinner. There was a new restaurant that Alice had heard about, so it seemed like a good bet for the evening. We first planned to spend the day at the park in town along the river. After living over the winter on the Eastside, we have learned to take plenty of cash with us on trips. This being the ownership society and all, every park had an entrance fee and was run by private businesses. I wanted to ask Alice why if I owned the park I didn’t get some of the profits from the fees, but my little men along the track thought better of it.

We spent the better part of the day there and before we left I made a mental note to remind myself to take better care of my park since it wasn’t too clean. Ownership can be taxing. So, we made our way to the restaurant. Just as we parked our car we noticed a family over by the edge of the parking lot. They looked to be bending over looking at something on the ground; all five of them, even the youngest. I started to look closer, but Alice jerked my arm. On a second look I saw why she pulled me away. It was the damndest thing. All five of them were throwing up in the bushes along the edge of the parking lot. 

“Why are they doing that?” I asked Alice.

“Beats me,” Alice replied.

I wanted to ask them if they needed any help, but since throwing up is one of those things that people like to do in private (the exception being college students), we continued into the restaurant. You might notice that I’m not relating to you all those little details in my stories that some of you might like to read about. Like, what kind of decorations the restaurant had, or what the waitresses were wearing. If Alice were writing this account, she would tell you all those details. I never pay much attention to those things, so ask Alice if you’re curious. 

Anyway, I wasn’t too curious about the family we saw in the parking lot, but just to make conversation with the hostess I asked if she had seen a family like them. Now, I can tell you exactly how the family was made up, since I later got their names and ages out of the paper and added that information to my notes. They were a mother and father, forty-five and forty-three, twin boys that were both thirteen, and an eight-year-old girl. Of course, at the time I was making conversation with the hostess I didn’t know all that, but I just mentioned a family of five with a small child. To my surprise the hostess knew right off who I meant. They had just eaten at the restaurant, and had left several minutes earlier. 

This news didn’t seem to bother Alice who was happily looking around at the motif, but I have to admit it did bother me just a little. After we were seated, I excused myself to use the men’s room. I didn’t really have to go, but I was going to follow the advice of another one of my uncles, Uncle Jack. He believed that the best way to find out about a business was not to ask the owner, but to go around back in the alley, and “shoot the bull” with some of the workers. So I made my way around back. The dumpster was overflowing with garbage and a few rats were helping themselves to a snack of leftover peaches in a tipped over can. I was in luck, because just as I chased off the rats one of the cooks came out the back door for a smoke. The other thing Uncle Jack told me was to always try to talk to a smoker if you can. Smokers in general are more likely to thumb their noses at authority, so they’re more likely to rat the owner out.

That bad feeling I had about eating at the restaurant was getting worse by the minute. The cook was wearing an apron that, at least to me, looked like it had never seen the inside of a washing machine. Being cagey, I didn’t pretend to be bothered, but started the conversation in an offhand manner.

Me: ‘Hey.’

Him: ‘Hey.’

Me: ‘Might rain.’

Him: ‘So they say.’

Me: ‘Taking a break?’

Him: ‘Yeah.’

Me: ‘Workin’ here long?’

Him: ‘Two weeks.’

Me: ‘Treat you okay?’

Him: ‘Can’t complain.’

Me: ‘Waddya do before?’

Him: ‘Same, in Western Washington.’

Me: ‘Do you like this better?’

Him: ‘Yeah.’

Me: ‘How come?’

Him: ‘No stupid inspectors.’

Me: ‘Is that so?’

Him: ‘We’re our own inspectors here, man.’

Me: ‘How so?’

Him: ‘No longer required.’

Me: ‘Is that so?’

Him: ‘Inspectors don’t know nothin’ about running a restaurant. They just get in the way.’

Now I have to break in here for a moment. It is important for you to know that all this time we were chewing the fat, he was wiping his drippy nose on his hand. Just to stay in good with him I wiped my nose on my sleeve. I thought he might like the company. 

Me: ‘They feed you here?’

Him: ‘Picken’s ain’t too good.’

Me: ‘How’s that?’

Him: ‘Don’t waste much.’

Me: ‘How’s that?’

Him: ‘Lot’s of daily specials.’

Me: ‘Good deals?’

Him: ‘Depends.’

Me: ‘On what.’

Him: ‘How old the stuff is.’

Me: ‘Stuff?’

Him: ‘The leftovers used in the specials.’

Now I wasn’t showing it on the outside, but I wasn’t feeling too good about eating there on the inside. But, I was sure Alice had her heart set on eating there so I had to think fast on my feet. I wanted to ask about that family throwing up in the parking lot, but figured he’d clam up if I asked him directly. He was finishing his cigarette so I had to be clever and act fast. 

Me: ‘Nice family just leaving the restaurant.’

Him: ‘Mother, father, twin boys and a little girl. Parents in their forties, moderate income, don’t get out to dinner much, driving a 1980’s Ford or Chev. Everyone ordered the special, Chicken Surprise. If you work long enough as a cook, and keep your eyes open, you get to be a pretty fair judge of people. But anyway, I gotta get back to work. Nice talkin’ to ya.’

As he put out his cigarette and left I congratulated myself on the cleverness of my comment, as I had elicited the exact information I’d been hoping for. It made me think about something else that my Uncle Jim told me, too, which was never to order anything in a restaurant that ended in the words “surprise” or “delight.” I always wondered why, but now I was beginning to get the idea. My immediate job was to keep Alice and me from following in the same footsteps as that family. I’m reproducing our next conversation in historical mode, as I thought that I handled it pretty well.

Me: ‘Nice décor.’

Alice: ‘You having a problem?’

Me: ‘Nope. I ran into the cook on the way back from the bathroom. Nice guy. He suggested we try the steak.’

Alice: ‘Steak? You feeling okay?’

Me: ‘This is such a nice restaurant I just feel like splurging for once.’

Alice: ‘This is a nice surprise.’

Me: ‘Then it’s settled, steaks and baked potatoes.’

By this time I was feeling really pleased with myself. I’d avoided the Chicken Surprise and scored some big points with Alice. 

A few weeks passed by after our meal. As you should know by now I don’t care much about politics or news. I can’t remember when the last time was that I actually read a newspaper or watched the news on TV. But, when I was taking the newspapers out to the garage, I noticed a picture of the family that we saw at the restaurant on the top of the pile. The picture was one of those that was taken at a studio. You know, the kind where everyone dresses up and gets their hair cut so that if it’s summer there’s a white band around the guys’ ears. Anyway, it caught my interest, since that kind of picture in the paper is normally bad news for the people in it. 

Well, I guess it could have been worse since they weren’t dead, like I thought at first judging from the nice photo in the paper. It turned out they were only poisoned and wished they were dead. They recovered good enough to try to sue the restaurant owner for damages and to reclaim the hospital costs. Having somewhat of a personal interest in the events since that was the night I scored some points with Alice, I entered some of the article in my notes, and will now relate a select few lines to you now. 

“Family Sues over Chicken Surprise”

“…restaurant owner denies responsibility…”

“…residue from the pumping out of their stomachs contained large chunks of chicken and noodles mixed with some unidentifiable smaller pieces…”

“…under new law, businesses must intend to harm the customer…”

“…family receives a free second dinner as compensation, but…”

“…this law protects our jobs and shields businesses from frivolous law suits…”

“…when careless businesses lose money, they will reform themselves…”

“…let the marketplace decide who deserves our business…”

This whole event got me thinking that it was sure lucky for that family the restaurant wasn’t selling farm or grain-sucking-up equipment. It if did, they sure would have been in for it.

Now, I’m just about ready to close this chapter, but I should mention one thing. Did you catch the change in the way Alice began to speak about the Eastside? Go back and read my historical rendition of our conversation about the storks. You’ll pick up on the fact that she started to use the word “we” when talking about the Eastside. This was a harbinger of things to come for sure (look it up in the dictionary, I had to).