The Fortune Cookie

There we were, all of us gathered for a family meal; I stress the words family and meal. Some Thanksgiving. Dad had tried to deep fry the bird. Emphasis on the word try.

“The oil needs to be a particular temperature. The turkey should be completely thawed and patted dry before.”That was how mom ended her sentence.

I wouldn't call it a real explosion, more like one of those geysers from Yellowstone. Yeah, that was how the oil shot up when the frozen turkey hit the bubbling 100% vegetable oil bottled specifically for your turkey fryer. I didn't know turkeys could fly. Anyway this one is now somewhere between here and the moon. That's what the fire department said. The police weren't so kind and gave dad a ticket for frying without a license and for frying under the influence, his first FUI. We tried to tell him it was a joke, but he just hung his head and went inside, opened another beer and watched the Macy's Parade. What else can you do at 9:30 on Thanksgiving morning?

Round about one o'clock we all started to get hungry, the port wine cheese ball, the crackers, the olives, the hummus, who brings hummus? The slices of pepperoni, some kind of three bean dip with hot peppers, popcorn balls, were just about gone. The pies made for dessert would have been devoured as well if it wasn't for the fact that they were still hot. I mean scalding hot like just out of the volcano.

When you need a place to go out to eat, in an emergency, on a holiday, that is when you realize how limited your options are. Money plays a factor as well and most of us had spent a good chunk of change to get home for the holiday that was turning out to be a Wes Carven holiday film. Seems like most of the good places wanted reservations. I'm not sure exactly what was defined as good by mom and dad other than they were both disappointed that we wouldn't be able to have turkey. After calling around they settled on this Chinese place.

So that was our day. Here we sat in a Chinese restaurant on Thanksgiving around two large tables pushed together to make a banquet table. Dad sat at the head with mom at his side, both joking about egg foo young. For the thousandth time my mom told the story from when she was in the navy, about her and her girlfriends going in to Chinese restaurants and trying to order some young guy.

It was a good time, not what we wanted, where we wanted it, but a good meal. What else could we want? Family, food, jokes, some wine, beer, mai tais and whatever else we could think of to order from the bar. Mom drank several Manhattans and began slurring her words while she walked around making sure everyone had enough to eat. The family over at the table by the rest rooms seemed a bit annoyed by her insistence that they eat their vegetables.

The waiter, an older gentlemen and no fool, dropped the bill in front of dad and then passed around fortune cookies smiling and telling us all to have a Happy Thanksgiving. I was first, cracking open the cookie and sliding the paper fortune out. After today there wasn't much more that could surprise or torment or so I thought.

"Today you are older than yesterday."

“What? Does it really say that?”

“Read it and weep,” I tossed the slip over to my brother.

“Shit, mine says, Today would be a good day, not to sit in the middle of the street.”

“You're all making that up,” mom slurred.

“No seriously mom. The plague stretches beneath the level.”

“What the hell does that mean? The level, what level?”

“The plague? The bird flu?”

“Maybe it’s symbolic like disaster lurks beneath the surface.”

“I don't get it.”

“Me neither,” my father shook his head.

“How about: The man who sits in the stream, has wet pants.”

“Wait, wait, seven blessings on seven days is less than fifty.”

Mom added, “Good food, good wine, a good woman put the smile on the dead man's face.”

“Geez, mom.”

“Hey dad read yours.”

“Okay, okay. Today's tip: less than twenty percent and you are cheap.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. I think this is all kind of a bit of hooey anyway.”

“Who wrote these things some Chinese poet on meth?”

“Maybe we should play the numbers on the back, maybe that is where the real fortune lies. You know like some ancient secret code to prosperity.”

“Son, I don't care to know what you been smoking, but please share some with us.”

“Yeah, hey didn't you bring the hummus?” I asked.

“Who drives home?”

“Maybe we should walk,” mom was hanging on to dad for dear life.

“Honey, we are about twenty miles from the house.”

“Okay, I just know that I can’t drive. I think I see two of everything.”

“You see two of everything on a normal day.” Dad always had a way of comforting mom when she was down.

“I'll take Manhattan.”

“Shut up.”

Outside the cool autumn air was refreshing, the late afternoon sun played among the bare tree limbs.

“Shit. What happened to the car? Dad, the windshield is like all busted in.”

Sitting on the driver’s seat among the shards of broken glass was a rather large pale looking half frozen turkey.

“Damn it! I guess we know now where our turkey ended up.” Dad turned away in disgust, mom puked and the rest of us nearly pissed ourselves laughing.