Ritual
Carl was on page five of the ten page diner menu when he gave up.
“How the hell do they expect us to believe that they can cook everything in this novella safely, never mind well?” he said to his Aunt Ellen who had invited him for brunch.
Ellen continued perusing the lengthy document even though Carl knew damn well she was going to order scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and coffee just as she probably knew he was going to order a turkey club and a diet Coke. She insisted on going through the motions despite the fact that the final resolution was already known and immutable which made her not unlike 99% of the other human beings on the planet.
Ellen closed the menu and said “You’re at a diner, most of this stuff is cooked the same way and whatever isn’t safe is probably just here for show and they’ll tell you they’re out of it if you order it. Anyway, why does it matter?”
Carl looked across at his aunt. She was in her mid sixties, only about ten years older than Carl was owing to the fact that Carl’s paternal grandparents kept popping out kids for almost two decades after Carl’s late father was born. Ellen had married young but it ended within a couple of years, amicably but long before the term “starter husband” had been invented. Ellen never remarried and instead threw herself into a career as an insurance agent. She had recently taken a buyout and was now basically retired.
The waitress arrived to take their order and they both behaved as each expected the other to.
“So” Carl began, “How’s retired life?”
“Pretty good. Can’t complain anyway. I’m planning to…”
Ellen kept talking as Carl’s mind wandered. The conversations were always the same and Carl could participate without engaging his mind, simply making appropriate noises and saying “yeah” or “you’re telling me” at the right times. Ellen would go on about some travel plans she was making that Carl knew damn well she would cancel because Ellen never followed through on travel plans unless she had a free place to stay from some friend or relative. Then Ellen would segue into the latest misadventures of her beloved poodle, Chewie the Fourth. Ellen had owned a series of poodles over the last four decades, all named Chewie which was appropriate since they all chewed up her furniture. Carl never liked the damn things. He didn’t have anything against animals, just the Chewie series of poodles all of whom yapped and nipped at him on the rare occasions he visited Ellen at home.
Carl was looking past Ellen’s left shoulder at his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the diner’s counter when the food arrived, not a moment too soon because Ellen was just finishing up a Chewie anecdote by taking out her phone camera to show Carl a picture and the arrival of the meal blocked the handoff.
“So, how are things with you?” Ellen asked as they began to eat.
“Fine. The usual crap at the office. There’s this new assistant who…”
Carl kept talking as Ellen’s mind wandered. The conversations were always the same and Ellen could participate without engaging her mind, simply making appropriate noises and saying “yeah” or “you’re telling me” at the right times. Carl would go on about some ridiculously minor issue at his work place that was exercising him this week and talk about how he was finally going to quit and get a simple job as a bank teller or something when Ellen knew damn well he was probably going to die in that job because the money was pretty good and it afforded him the free time to do sketches that later evolved into the watercolors that were one of Carl’s hobbies. Then Carl would segue into the latest misadventures of his beloved cat, Sonic, named after the stupid video game character. Carl had always owned cats and Ellen couldn’t abide them because she couldn’t stand the stink of the cat box in the house which is why she never visited Carl at home but rather invited him out for brunch.
Ellen was looking past Carl’s right shoulder out the window when the check arrived, not a moment too soon because Carl was finishing up a Sonic anecdote by taking out his phone camera to show Ellen a picture and the arrival of the bill blocked the handoff.
Carl and Ellen settled up the bill, argued briefly over the tip as they always did (Carl had been a waiter at a different diner in high school and Ellen felt he tipped excessively as a result) and headed out into the cold December air.
“So long Carl.”
“So long Ellen”
They leaned in to kiss each other on the cheek but didn’t actually connect and air-kissed instead. Then they each walked to their cars and went home, another weekend obligation fulfilled.
“How the hell do they expect us to believe that they can cook everything in this novella safely, never mind well?” he said to his Aunt Ellen who had invited him for brunch.
Ellen continued perusing the lengthy document even though Carl knew damn well she was going to order scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and coffee just as she probably knew he was going to order a turkey club and a diet Coke. She insisted on going through the motions despite the fact that the final resolution was already known and immutable which made her not unlike 99% of the other human beings on the planet.
Ellen closed the menu and said “You’re at a diner, most of this stuff is cooked the same way and whatever isn’t safe is probably just here for show and they’ll tell you they’re out of it if you order it. Anyway, why does it matter?”
Carl looked across at his aunt. She was in her mid sixties, only about ten years older than Carl was owing to the fact that Carl’s paternal grandparents kept popping out kids for almost two decades after Carl’s late father was born. Ellen had married young but it ended within a couple of years, amicably but long before the term “starter husband” had been invented. Ellen never remarried and instead threw herself into a career as an insurance agent. She had recently taken a buyout and was now basically retired.
The waitress arrived to take their order and they both behaved as each expected the other to.
“So” Carl began, “How’s retired life?”
“Pretty good. Can’t complain anyway. I’m planning to…”
Ellen kept talking as Carl’s mind wandered. The conversations were always the same and Carl could participate without engaging his mind, simply making appropriate noises and saying “yeah” or “you’re telling me” at the right times. Ellen would go on about some travel plans she was making that Carl knew damn well she would cancel because Ellen never followed through on travel plans unless she had a free place to stay from some friend or relative. Then Ellen would segue into the latest misadventures of her beloved poodle, Chewie the Fourth. Ellen had owned a series of poodles over the last four decades, all named Chewie which was appropriate since they all chewed up her furniture. Carl never liked the damn things. He didn’t have anything against animals, just the Chewie series of poodles all of whom yapped and nipped at him on the rare occasions he visited Ellen at home.
Carl was looking past Ellen’s left shoulder at his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the diner’s counter when the food arrived, not a moment too soon because Ellen was just finishing up a Chewie anecdote by taking out her phone camera to show Carl a picture and the arrival of the meal blocked the handoff.
“So, how are things with you?” Ellen asked as they began to eat.
“Fine. The usual crap at the office. There’s this new assistant who…”
Carl kept talking as Ellen’s mind wandered. The conversations were always the same and Ellen could participate without engaging her mind, simply making appropriate noises and saying “yeah” or “you’re telling me” at the right times. Carl would go on about some ridiculously minor issue at his work place that was exercising him this week and talk about how he was finally going to quit and get a simple job as a bank teller or something when Ellen knew damn well he was probably going to die in that job because the money was pretty good and it afforded him the free time to do sketches that later evolved into the watercolors that were one of Carl’s hobbies. Then Carl would segue into the latest misadventures of his beloved cat, Sonic, named after the stupid video game character. Carl had always owned cats and Ellen couldn’t abide them because she couldn’t stand the stink of the cat box in the house which is why she never visited Carl at home but rather invited him out for brunch.
Ellen was looking past Carl’s right shoulder out the window when the check arrived, not a moment too soon because Carl was finishing up a Sonic anecdote by taking out his phone camera to show Ellen a picture and the arrival of the bill blocked the handoff.
Carl and Ellen settled up the bill, argued briefly over the tip as they always did (Carl had been a waiter at a different diner in high school and Ellen felt he tipped excessively as a result) and headed out into the cold December air.
“So long Carl.”
“So long Ellen”
They leaned in to kiss each other on the cheek but didn’t actually connect and air-kissed instead. Then they each walked to their cars and went home, another weekend obligation fulfilled.
Comments