HEAD SCRATCHERS of the weak minded
Who ever came up with the idea
of flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil?*
Was it a bunch of bored forklift drivers in a toy factory in NW Minnesota? Perhaps an independent-minded farm woman in a John Deere 4x4 tractor pulling a field roller across a section of sandy loam near Crookston? Or maybe a summer-help college student frycook basting walleye filets with lemon juice at the Oak Island Resort on the Lake of the Woods?
Who ever paused in their busy lives to contemplate fallopian tubes and poppyseed oil in presumably deep thought about fertilization, begs consideration.
I mean, of all the things I heard about on MPR that Wednesday, May 18th, 2017, including Trump's Tweets, Mueller’s new assignment, independent prosecutors, MPR’s member drive and reasons to contribute toward their fine programming, it wasn’t until after 2:00 PM CST that BBC initiated this conversation about flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil that really captured my imagination.
“Why not olive oil?” I thought to myself, steering my car into a parking space at the toy factory where I was to work for another 25 working days. “Did they discount olive oil? Doesn’t poppy seed oil have seeds?”
I started thinking of those other unlikely combinations that someone thought of and the public had embraced without so much as a thought, in the free time I had at work as infrequent as it was. Combinations like chocolate and peanut butter, cheese and apple pie, coca cola and chrome bumpers, bug spray and plastic headlights for cars, etc, etc. There are some real thinking type people out there, just like us, normal, unremarkable individuals who possess deep-thinking powers that they didn't share with just anyone--until the days of Facebook, YouTube and Instagram.
When I entered the toy factory break room prior to the beginning of shift, an over-zealous Canadian working there on a permit visa, raised his hand high in solicitous greeting, so I answered him.
“Oui, Dubois!” gesturing to him in kind.
“Avez-vous une question ou devez-vous aller aux toilettes?
He smiled genuinely, as exuberant Canadians seem to do, then replied feebly, “Uh, no.”
“Well, tell me eh,“ I said briefly, switching to Anglaise momentarily and employing the Canadian expressionistic verb tense, 'eh'. "Qui a pensé à laver les trompes de Fallope avec de l'huile de graines de pavot? Et ne me dites pas, c’est le même individu qui a perfectionné l’insémination artificielle bovine et inventé les gants en caoutchouc aux épaules, hein.
As is common with many second-generation immigrant youth, (although in this case the individual was nearly fifty years old and a youth no longer), his command of his native tongue was limited to parental household French i.e., what his parents spoke at home.
Deep-thinking head scratching French was not his forte, obviously, but I knew that. What he didn't know was, he could've answered me back in French and said anything, even ""Vous devez manger tout votre petit-déjeuner avant de pouvoir quitter la table! il y a des enfants affamés en Ethiopie!" And I wouldn't have known any different.
So feeling the need to translate I said, “Who thought of flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil? And don’t be telling me, it was the same individual who perfected bovine artifical insemination and invented shoulder-length rubber gloves, eh.”
Dubois looked at me blankly, then started to flex his big muscled tattooed forearms to make Lovely Lady dance. Turning his head away, he began watching his own reflection in the shiny soft drink machine doors and smiled his dazzling smile to no one but himself.
Further inquiries fell on deaf ears, as fellow coworkers immersed themselves in smartphone chatter, and perused heavy equipment auction sales brochures, chuckling to themselves about an obviously over-priced 1973 International 2WD loader tractor.
I gave up. That’s one thing about any manufacturing plant in northwest Minnesota, unless you’re talking about hockey, ice fishing (or summer fishing) or hockey, conversations about anything else but hockey, or fishing, don’t elicit serious attention.
Weee-Haaa! What be ye smokin' this week out in Palmywilla, WW? What a kaleidoscope of images and opinions. Or is it pinions? Didn't know you spoke the language of love, eh? Awesome as always. JPSavage
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