OH…POSSUM!

       Within minutes of my arrival Doug started in on his story of the week. There's a new "Indian" among the pre-release. I think Doug enjoys those folks—perhaps because they bring a bit of cultural color to the group. That was surely the case yesterday when the new fellow's grandmother came to the dining room and proudly presented her best dish to Doug. BOB was working too, and the woman told Doug there was more than enough to share, "Be sure to give your friend half!"

       It looked like two big hamburgers with a fried egg sandwiched between them. Doug got a knife and cut off a small bite. BOB took a bigger bite. The woman waited expectantly as the men tasted her masterpiece. Doug put his best foot forward, chewed, and painfully swallowed. Then he lied outright and told Grandma it was great. BOB, having the advantage of not being in the spotlight, turned his back and deposited his whole mouthful in the trash.

       There were "gritty things" in the meat and there was corn. The corn we assume was to help disguise the gritty elements. The fried egg was no doubt just a standard part of how this dish is served. Both men spent the rest of the day and night consuming various drinks and foods in an effort to get the "permanently greasy" taste out of their systems. As of noon today, Doug was still unable to shake off the taste of his one bite of opossum—I'm thinking it's engrained in his memory, and his brain is still sending signals to his palate.

       There was nothing special for me to do, so I made 52 PBJs, and Doug helped me sack them. We filled the napkin and cutlery dispensers in the dining room, and we deep fried mini-corndogs and home fries. We served fruit on the side. Nothing to brag about.

       The 8-year-old girl was reported to be with her grandmother today, but the teens were there. They've been out of school for a couple of weeks now, but have nothing lined up to do this summer (one is 17—hello...), so I suggested they volunteer with younger kids at a youth center, adding how nice that would look on their resumes. They wanted to know how to do that. I told them to catch the bus, ride to the youth center, walk in, and volunteer. This isn't going to happen, but I've done my best.

       A wispy little blonde came in around noon to work off some of her 100 service hours, and Doug put her to work making sack lunches. Well, I put her to work on those. Doug was twisted in knots over having to show her how, because she's one of those special people who lives just outside of reality. She'd brought with her some homemade chocolate (Doug gagged on it) and a quart jar of bright blue algae water. Doug drank some, because the girl swore it would wash away the opossum taste.

       For next week, Doug said he wanted to do something different because it's a holiday weekend. He was thinking about making hamburgers. Suddenly realizing the effort that would take, he stopped himself, "I ain't makin' them no hamburgers!" So I suggested pimento cheese sandwiches (a summer kind of thing), and he added tuna salad sandwiches (salad accidently ordered last week). He said he'd order some pickles and give them chips on the side. I suggested we also serve cream of tomato soup with cheese. Now I have to find someone willing to donate five or six #10 cans of tomato soup. What was I thinking?

       The new head honcho has made a second appearance and commented on Doug's extra-clean kitchen. Just 4 years from retirement, we don't expect him to get his hands too dirty. The gatekeepers are down to four, but only three full-time: the cute one, the large one (both very nice guys) and that crazy woman who used to hog my work table (the one who makes her own bread with dried zucchini). SHE called Doug in on the carpet last week for not "rotating his foods," which had something to do with an older gallon of milk being unopened when a newer one was open. That issue was quickly settled, as the woman has no business in the kitchen, and Doug has no control over those who plunder the kitchen during his off hours.

       Miss Lillian is coming back tomorrow. One is torn between celebrating her improved health and dreading her presence. Then one is completely blown away to hear that Doug is required to go in (on his day off) and help Lillian get all of her supplies ready for cooking, as she isn't well enough to lift some things. Gimme a W, gimme a T…