Title
Yes that’s the title of this one from That’s Life (as we know it)
[Regarding Helene, please see info below Footnotes.]
Title
In the middle of the night I awoke from a lurid dream1 and had a brilliant idea for a name for the following tale, but failed to write it down. This morning it hath fled. So consider that bolded word upstairs a placeholder. Maybe it will come back to me as I wander around downslope.
The principal fly in that ointment is that this was to be a story about something that didn't happen. There may be few extant clues. It's even hard to know where to start. Before? After? Perhaps while it wasn't going on? A conundrum.
One possible launch pad could be looking up that idiomatic phrase. Where did the fly come from? It turns out to be from Ecclesiastes or Ἐκκλησιαστής for you Greek speakers, which is a translation from the Hebrew קֹהֶלֶת. (The Greeks obviously had extra letters lying around.) But the accepted English translation of the Latin transliteration of the Greek translation of the Hebrew phrase is: “Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour.” [Love me some bible talk.]
Sorry I asked. That one's going to chase me around all day. “Stinking savour”? Eew! I'll try to pretend it didn't happen which gives me an opening. If I concentrate my attention and focus my thinking then that web search will constitute something that didn't happen. However, being in the moment, I clearly can't tell you what happened afterward since afterward hasn't happened yet, so I'll have to pick up the thread back when.
Let's see. You already know I woke up with a light bulb over my head and managed to forget the magnificent thought after falling asleep and waking again at 3:30 a.m. (I'm an early bird which is where I catch all these wiggly wormy yarns.)
[Image from dream/time.com]
OK. It was the day after Thanksgiving (just two days ago as I clamber around in this word jungle). Cleveland and I both avoid shopping on that day, given the madhouses that constitute Black Friday emporia. (Something that “didn't happen,” at least for him and me.) [I've heard that things are less wild and wooly now that most retailers have begun offering the purported “deals” a couple of weeks early but I still demur. This too shall pass.]
This suggests a digression that I think bears mentioning.
(This is one true part of the current adventure.)
A friend of mine wants to purchase a washer/dryer—one of those all-in-one stacked things frequently seen in apartments. That’s the reason she wants one. To see it in her apartment.
I priced identical units at two retailers, one a building supply and the other an electronics/appliance store, (online shopping for local pickup). Both websites offered the w/d for $1299 at a savings of $95 under the “list” price. A couple of weeks went by and I checked again. Now the first outfit promised me savings of $250, while the second stuck with $95, but both priced the unit at—you guessed it!—$1299. Finally, on Thanksgiving, I got an e-mail from the first vendor promising blow-out savings on BlackFriday. Now I could save $350 if I forked over the low, low price! $1299.
Does that actually work? Are consumers that dim? [Not that saving $350 as promised in the subject line didn't sound good. My heart went pitter pat … but that sale didn't happen either.]
Now back to the untrue parts.
Cleveland and I go way back. We used to work together at an orange juice plant in Orlando. It was an after school job when we were juniors in 1967. What we did was load pallets of orange juice in cartons in boxes onto refrigerated semi trailers. We got to horse around with the fork lift and we were allowed to drink all the OJ we cared to consume, beginning my lifelong addiction to the stuff.
Anita Bryant®, who later became a right wingnut (rightwing nut?), used to tell the camera that “a day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.” Sorry. I call BS. A day without OJ is like a day without heroin. Except that I drink it rather than smoking or injecting.
All of the OJ info above is true except my inclusion of Cleveland. That part didn't happen. We didn't meet until the spring of 2014, but he's a nice fellow and I thought he'd appreciate participating in my adolescent memories.
So, 2014. We met on a plane headed for Egypt! We just happened to be seat mates and quickly hit it off. Luck of the draw.
That was a pretty fantastic two week jaunt. Pyramids and iconic sculptures and camels. Camels! The buzz of crowds bustling amid street stands and the quietude of evenings on the banks of the Nile. I can still picture the fishing boats coming back from a day's work with fishermen hauling their catch ashore and handing the slippery silvery sardines—or whatever they were—to the women waiting on the beach. The women were in charge of drying and storage and I can still recall the smell of dead fish dehydrating in the blistering North African sun. (viz: stinking savour, flies and all.)
Oh, and later the venture on the Marrakesh Express. Wild ride, that one!
Only, of course, there is no such train, or at least no train with that specific name. The Moroccan town is Marrakech. Also, full disclosure, Cleve did go to Egypt and Morroco in 2014, but I did not. Didn't happen.
[He told me about it later and his descriptions were so vivid that it felt like I'd been there with him.]
I did meet him that year however. We were both called for jury duty and got to know each other while we waited for jury selection to proceed. We pretty quickly discovered our common interest in breeding Siamese fighting fish which is a pretty abstruse hobby. I'd guess that most of you reading this have never even thought about doing that. So you can see how this would have drawn us together.
Betas don't get along which is why the modifier “fighting” is included in the longer name. They have gloriously ornamental fins and if you put two males in the same tank they will quickly shred each other's ornaments, often leading to a mutual debility if not death. Even females get abused in such a situation which leads one to imagine that in whatever version the fish first existed, before the onset of hobbyist breeding, the girls didn't much hang with the boys. (i.e. another didn't happen)
But if you put a boy beta and a girl beta in the same aquarium with a glass panel between them he shows off, flashing his colors and the girl gets hot and bothered, soon swelling with eggs. Meanwhile the boy decides to impress her by blowing bubbles. (I'm not making this up.) The saliva—(I think that's what it's called)—coated bubbles adhere and soon he is the proud owner of what is called a “bubble nest,” a little island of white froth.
Next the glass divider is removed and a chase begins. She shows off her round little tummy and he makes a dash, then returns to the nest and fans his fabulous fins, clearly inviting her to hook up. Finally she agrees and when she submits he wraps himself around her and squeezes eggs out as he squirts milt.2 He then swoops down and catches the eggs in his mouth and spits them in among the bubbles, over and over until she's empty.
Now you have to remove the mom because she's exhausted and hungry and would like nothing better than some eggs for breakfast. Meanwhile, basking in the afterglow of conquest, the guy will devote himself to hatching and then child care. (I don't know if betas are closely related to seahorses, but the dads in both species are very nurturing.)
Oh, neither of us was actually tapped for jury duty and while I did breed betas many years ago (1970-71) I have no idea whether Cleve has a clue regarding fighting fish. The topic only sprang to mind 10 minutes ago. (Two “didn't happens” in a row!) But, of course, he might have. I'll ask if I run into him again.
What I do know about Cleve is that he was a terrific baseball player in his youth. He made the minors, which takes a good bit of talent and hard work. No, he never made it to the big league, but he led his team to multiple pennants. He was a regular 5-tool player frequently knocking balls out of the park, stealing bases, plus catching and throwing with the best of them. He played any position including taking the hill. Why he never got a call-up is a puzzle, but it didn't happen.
After five seasons he tired of the travel, the locker rooms in second rate facilities (stinking savour and all), the dashed hope, the strained muscles and the low pay. He simply quit. Now he sells insurance I think.
But I still can't remember that great title.
***
Three days later:
On the advice of an appliance repairman we trust, my friend decided to reject the washer/dryer unit and opt for full size, stackable units of a brand deemed “best stackable” in consumer reviews. I found an actual discount (I think they are unloading overstocks) on same. We saved $410 off the verified regular price! Stunning! And astonishing! $1299 for the pair. You can't make this stuff up.
Hence, purchase of the original target w/d appliance?
Didn't happen.
***
Six weeks later
It turned out that the review “best stackable” was bogus and Consumer Reports® suggested another brand, $1549 for the pair, so the first order (thankfully delayed by the infamous COVID-19 supply chain snafu) was cancelled. Furthermore, the original $1299 price didn't include necessary add-ons which meant the final cost difference proved negligible. This is the kind of bonusinfo that keeps literally dozens of readers borrowing my books!
***
NOTE PER FOOTNOTES: Substack starts off with new numbering each time I post a story. But Footnotes in the original book are continuous and often refer back to previous super important stuff. So original Footnote #s are included below in [#]s.
1 [246] See footnote 220.
2 [247] I bet you didn't see this hot'n'steamy coming!
Regarding Helene
