Museum attendance had picked up over the past two months.
Word had spread in Seattle about a strange virus museum and the curious old man
hosting it. Larimer, not one to seek attention nor one to shun it enjoyed the sudden
influx of youth that were frequenting the museum. The usual patrons were old
colleagues, their widow’s, or graduate students trying to pick his brain on virology.
Seeing the halls now full of children and adults alike gave Larimer a sense of
fulfillment that he hadn’t felt in years. He had given his tour so many times
that he had polished his stories, puns, and one or two crude jokes. He was
getting good at it, and people seemed to enjoy it.
Most of Larimer’s days were spent entirely at the museum,
splitting his time between tours and scheduled appointments. However, on this Wednesday
Larimer was feeling especially energized and wanted to see some countryside.
Afterall, if was a beautiful sunny spring day in Seattle, and he didn’t feel it
should be spent indoors.
“Gayle, I’ll give one more tour this morning, then have
Frederico prepare my car and ask Jesse to finish the rest of the tours today.
We’re heading to the Puget Sound. Who knows, maybe we’ll see some orcas?”
Larimer announced to his secretary, Gayle.
The last tour began like any other. He gave his history
of viruses bit, fifteen minutes on the Black Plague, and that Roman Road
Network joke was always an unexpected crowd pleaser. When he was just about to
finish on the recent sample brought in from Siberia, a young man from the crowd
shouted out, interrupting Larimer, “I hear you’ve got a weapon of mass
destruction glued to the end of your cane!” Larimer was taken aback at what the
young man said, and especially with the tone he said it.
“No, son. It’s not a weapon of mass destruction, and it’s
not glue..” but before Larimer could finish, the young man spoke over him
again. “That virus has wiped out every civilization its ever come across, and
you think you can just glue it to the end of your…” Now it was Larimer’s turn
to interrupt.
“No, BOY! It’s not a weapon of mass destruction, and if
you’d let me finish my presentation, you’d know tha…”
“That it’s inert and perfectly safe. I know, I’ve been on
the tour already. Multiple times. Because it blows my mind that you’re carrying
around an ancient virus that’s likely wiped out entire civilizations on the end
of your cane, even if it is ‘inert’. I keep coming back looking for a reason to
justify what you’re doing here, but I can’t find one. You need to put your
little cane virus snow globe into a laboratory so it can be studied and
understood before it’s flaunted around…”
“Wait!” Larimer yelled out, cutting off the man’s
monologue before he took the tour into irreparable territory. But Larimer had nothing
else lined up to say after that. “Wait… why did I yell wait? Is that the best I
can do against this kid?” thought Larimer. But before he could say anything
else in his defense, he thought about what the man had said and realized that
he had been asking himself the same questions and hadn’t quite answered them
yet. It was in this moment of hesitation and self-reflection that the young man
saw he had Larimer on the ropes, ready for a knockout.
“If you’re so sure the virus is completely safe, then
lick the cane and show us all that it’s safe!” the man continued. There was a
gasp in the room, hushed though it was, and Larimer saw true concern in his
audience’s eyes.
“Lick my cane that’s just….. just…. eerrrrr…. Uh…..”
Larimer let out a long, faint moan, barely audible to humans, but several
service dogs in the area lifted their heads and perked their ears at the sound.
“That’s just inappropriate. Licking my cane would prove nothing.”
“Yes, it would,” the man continued. “Or at least take off
your gloves, touch the cane, then put your fingers in your mouth.”
“I’m not going to put my fingers in my mouth. As a virologist, I’ve made a living trying to
get people to wash their hands before putting any…”
“Here you go, use this.”
The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of hand
sanitizer.
Larimer looked at the man in disbelief and would have
stopped engaging with him right there until he saw the rest of the faces in the
group. While curious and concerned that an
old man was being treated this way, he could tell that they too wanted to see
him pass the test.
It was against everything he knew. He had learned too much about the spread of
disease to ever touch an object outside of his home with his bare skin, and had
worn white leather gloves for the last 38 years as an extra precaution. Through
intense mental effort, he’d learned to never touch his face unless he’d put on
a pair of clean gloves or thoroughly washed his hands. As a result, he’d gone
decades without catching as much as a mild cold. But now Larimer was getting
his feet put to the l fire, and he had to prove to himself and the audience
that there truly was nothing dangerous about the inert viruses encapsulated at
the end of his cane.
Slightly trembling from the adrenaline of the occasion,
Larimer peeled the glove off his right hand and grabbed the end of his cane.
Leaving his hand there for a few seconds to give himself one last chance to
back out, he slowly raised his hand to his face and put the tip of his index
finger in his mouth. As disgusting and suggestive a scene as it was for the
audience, they nonetheless broke out in laughing and cheers, relieved that
Larimer believed they were all safe from the virus. The man frowned in
disbelief, robbed of his argument. Raising
his finger in triumph over his head, Larimer capitalized on the moment to take
back control of his tour. “See? Completely safe.”
****
The drive to the Puget Sound was one of Larimer’s
favorite. The winding road through the dense, green forest always helped him
remember the world was much bigger than his museum and work. He had a favorite
Vietnamese restaurant he’d eat at any time he was in the area, and he even
found himself at times making up excuses to drive to the Puget Sound just so he
could stop and get his favorite seafood/veggie meal. Number 32 was his
order.
“This place is the best, guys. Trust me, you’ve never had
a seafood platter this tasty,” he said to Dwayne, Frederico, and Gayle, who had
all agreed to come with Larimer. Frederico was Larimer’s driver, and while he
was not the best conversationalist, he got Larimer where and when he needed to
be. Dwayne and Gayle, Larimer’s secretary, had heard Larimer talk about the
seafood platter enough times that they were eager to try it and decided to come
for the ride.
However, when they pulled up to the restaurant, it’s
parking lot was empty and the “Open” sign was not lit up. “Closed for repairs,”
read Frederico from the small sign on the front door. A thick silence fell in
the car as Larimer’s mood instantly turned from hangry to three-year old fit
status. “What do you mean, closed for repairs?! We drove all this way…. Now
what will we eat?!” burst out Larimer. Dwayne had never seen his grandfather’s
hangry fits before, but they were the making of legends in his family. He’d
heard from his older cousins about the time Grandpa used the F word because
Grandma burnt his toast or the great lasagna standoff of 1968. He was mostly
scared but somewhat curious to see what an old-man grandpa hangry fit would
look like, but he could see Larimer was trying his best to keep it under
control.
“There’s a really good Mexican place right down the
street. The one I keep…” Frederico started before he was interrupted by
Larimer.
“The one you keep telling me about. I know. What is it?
Betos? Something like that?”
“Yeah, Betos. It’s super good, open 24 hours a day, and
the burritos are huge.”
“I don’t care how big the burritos are! I just want some
food, quick!”
Frederico drove a half mile down the street to Betos
where he parked in the dilapidated, crumbling parking lot. “If the parking lot is any indicator how the
owner feels about his restaurant, I’m sure we’re in for a real treat!” Larimer
yelled out. “Yeah, this parking lot’s a real piece of work! Just like I’m sure
this fu…. freaking burrito’s going to be!” Larimer continued, giving Dwayne a
quick glance then looking away. He knew he was making a scene and he’d better
stop there.
“It’s alright, Mr. Johnson” Gayle interjected. “Let’s get
you some food, then you’ll feel better.” Gayle’s calm, collective statement
made them all feel better as they walked into the restaurant.
However, just as they opened the door, Gayle got a call
on her phone. “Ok. Thanks for calling, I’ll be there in 5 minutes.” Gayle put
her phone in her pocket and looked shyly at Frederico. “I’m sorry, Frederico.
Could you give me a drive? I need to pick up my husband’s medicine from the
pharmacy, and it’s only a few miles from here. I’d normally pick it up after
work, but they’re closing early today. Could you give me a ride?” Frederico and
Gayle drove off down the road, leaving Larimer and Dwayne inside the small
Mexican fast food restaurant with the supposedly massive, delicious burritos.
“So, Dwayne… What’s good at these places?”
“Uh, I usually get a California burrito.”
“California burrito? Doesn’t that State have enough going
for it? It needs to name a burrito after itself now?” Larimer grumbled under
his breath. “Ok, fine. Your two finest California burritos, sir!” Larimer said
sarcastically to the teenager working the register. Although he had somewhat
calmed down, Dwayne could see Larimer was still brewing with anger about his
favorite restaurant being closed.
Minutes later, two massive burritos were served to
Larimer and Dwayne.
“This is the size of a newborn baby!” Larimer exclaimed,
looking in disgust and awe at his food. As Dwayne looked at the burrito, he was
amused by that comment as the way the burrito was wrapped resembled a newborn
swaddled tight in a blanket. “Well, giant, baby burrito. Let’s see how good you
are,” Larimer said quietly, grabbing the burrito carefully as you would a small
child. But just as he lifted the burrito, inordinate amounts of liquid began
gushing out of the bottom, filling up his plate with a white, oily fluid.
“Oh, that’s disgusting!” yelled out Larimer. This was too
much for Dwayne, and he began laughing. Infuriated but also seeing the humor of
the situation, Larimer smiled a disgusted smile and shook his head. “I’m not
kidding. This thing’s discharging its bowels onto my plate!” At this, they both
started laughing. “Well, I’m starving,” smiled Dwayne, happy to see Larimer
lighten up. And with that, Dwayne sunk
his teeth into what was undoubtedly the worst burrito he’d ever tasted. Before
he could warn Larimer, he had also taken a bite.
“Ok. That’s enough for me. Let’s get out of here,” Larimer
said as he placed the burrito in the small pond in his plate, the tortilla
unwrapping and spilling the innards of the burrito. “I swear, this thing is
more liquid than it is food,” Larimer said, his finishing insult on the
terrible excuse for a burrito. “Yeah, this is pretty terrible,” said Dwayne
after taking a few more bites. “I can’t eat this.”
Frederico pulled up just as Dwayne and Larimer walked out
of the restaurant. “You guys don’t want to eat here?” Frederico asked.
“You like this place? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Larimer scolded Frederico, half-jokingly, half serious.
“Well… big burrito’s for only like 2 bucks. It might not
be that good, but it’s a meal in itself.” Frederico rebutted.
“Do I look like I’m trying to get by from meal to meal? Be
honest. I don’t know how many meals I’ve got left, so I want the rest of them
to be at least half decent.”
“Ok, why don’t we just head back to Seattle. We can find
something there,” interjected Gayle before the conversation got too serious.
The car had not been on the freeway for 15 minutes before
Larimer’s stomach began having intense, sharp pains. Bloating like he had never
experienced and these high-pitched intestinal squeals that would have easily
been heard if not for the noise of the car. Larimer did his best to keep it
together sitting in the back seat next to Dwayne, and he knew he had only 20
minutes or so left of the drive, so he could hold it. But he couldn’t. A
debilitating pain shot through his stomach, making Larimer lightheaded. He
sweat heavily as he positioned one half of his buttocks onto the seat and
lifted the other, creating clear passage for his gas to escape and relieve some
of the pressure in his stomach. But just as soon as he relaxed his stomach,
warm fluid shot out into his underwear. Larimer quickly tightened his buns,
stopping the flow, but not before it had destroyed his underwear.
“Frederico, pull over! I need to go to the bathroom!” But
just as Larimer said that, the last exit of the small town passed by on the
freeway, and a small blue sign said, “Next Exit Olympia: 12 Miles.”
“Sorry sir, we’ve got twelve miles. Can you make it?” No,
he wouldn’t. But he’d have to anyway.
Larimer sat on the side of his hip in the car, clenching
the muscle at the end of the rectum, the muscle that separates man from beast,
counting the time that had passed and calculating in his head how much further
they had to drive. Larimer finally understood the importance of the Kegel
exercises he had been instructed to do in his monthly AARP newsletters.
A foul stench filled the car, and Frederico rolled down
the windows. Fortunately for Larimer, the smell was so unnatural, so unhuman,
that nobody even suspected it came from someone in the car.
“I hear there’s a chemical plant in this area,” remarked
Gayle.
“Yeah, I heard that too. They must have had some kind of
spill or something, because my throats swelling and my eyes are burning!”
replied Dwayne.
As the gang rolled down the freeway with the windows
down, coughing and gagging with their heads out the window, Larimer kept
thinking of the burrito he’d eaten. “Only one bite, and that stupid thing is
giving me the worst runs I’ve had in my life! Stupid burrito… curse you….
CURSE….” Then, without realizing he was speaking out loud, Larimer yelled out
through clenched jaw, “Curse you, Betos!!”
Everyone in the car looked at Larimer, sitting on his
side, his eyes closed, and his face contorted in pain, they suddenly realized where
the smell was coming from.
“I think Mr. Johnson did… stinky gas,” Frederico
hesitantly opined, looking at Gayle and waving his hand under his nose.
Frederico had been raised in a home where the word “fart” was looked upon as a
vile curse word, so alternatives such as “stinky gas” were used. However,
actual curse words were frequently used, and sometimes in the same sentence
with “stinky gas.”
Now that the cat was quite literally out of the bag,
Larimer started moaning in pain. They had another 8 miles to go until the next
stop, and he honestly did not think he could make it.
“Grandpa, you know what I do when I’m trying to hold it
in? I think of scenes from my favorite movies. That takes my mind off the pain.
What’s your favorite movie?” suggested Dwayne.
“G…. Ggg…. UHHHH!!!!” started Larimer, but his best
attempts at speaking ending in loud grunts of pain.
“G, g, g…” thought Dwayne. “Good Will Hunting?”
Larimer shook his head. “G… Gl… Gl…”
“Glee?” interrupted Frederico from the front seat.
“No, you idiot!” Larimer screamed in a fit of rage,
mostly upset due to his current predicament but also upset that Frederico
thought he’d ever watch Glee. “Gladiator!”
Proud of his grandfather for watching good movies,
Dwayne, in his best Russel Crowe voice, started rattling off ‘Gladiator’ quotes.
“What we do in life echoes in eternity!”
“It’s the frost. Sometimes it makes the blade stick.”
“People should know when they’re conquered! Would you,
Quintus?”
“Would I?” finished Larimer through clenched teeth. Surprisingly
to Larimer, this eased his mind and pain the last few miles of the trip.
Pulling up to the nearest rest stop, Larimer slowly lifted
himself out of the car. “Sir, would you
like any help?” asked Frederico.
“NO! Please, nobody even look at me right now!” Larimer grunted with true urgency.
Looking down on the floor of the car, Dwayne saw an
unopened bag of toilet paper. Ripping it open, he quickly grabbed two rolls and
handed them to Larimer. “Here, Grandpa. In case they don’t have any.”
As Larimer hobbled into the bathroom stall, one Gladiator
quote, perhaps the most relevant of all, rang through his mind. “At my signal,
unleash hell!” And he did.
Some time later, Larimer emerged from the rest stop with
a sly grin on his face. Getting into the car, he set the rest of a roll of
toilet paper on the floor between his feet.
“Wow, Grandpa. You used an entire roll?”
Winking at Dwayne and with a smile of relief, Larimer
responded, “ToiletDome, Kid. Two rolls enter. One roll leaves.”
****
The next morning Larimer woke up, his stomach still very
much upset, and somewhat chaffed between the cheeks. Looking at his phone, he
had several text messages, one from Frederico, the other from Gayle. They both
said they would not be making it to work that day; they must have had food
poisoning and were taking the day off. “That’s
too bad. I told you, that was the worst burrito ever made. It’d make anyone
sick!” Larimer chuckled to himself.
“But they didn’t
eat Betos,” a voice in Larimer’s head said to him. Larimer stopped walking and
looked straight ahead in a brief moment of horror. His cane was in front of him
leaning against the wall, with the “crystal ball” at the end of it. “No. It couldn’t be… They had to have gotten
food poisoning. Just like I did.”
Larimer thought, and sat slowly in his armchair. Staring
at the blank TV, Larimer was in shock.
He grabbed his cane and studied it, looking closely at the epoxied
coating surrounding the specimen. It had
been some time since he made it, but he was around it so much he had not taken
the time to take a close look at it. He
grabbed the cane and pulled it close to his face, studying it slowly while he
slowly spun it around. Until he stopped,
and saw a small hairline crack on the top.
Surprised, he followed it down the orb as it finally terminated at the
base. ‘No’, the thought. He stood up and briskly walked to his garage,
opened up the trash can and put his cane inside, hooking onto his boxers and
pants and pulled them out, slowly exposing the hole burnt through his boxers
and pants. “What have I done?”
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