Saturday, November 1, 2008

A Stolen Frozen Turkey

George Hamilton & William Stadiem, Don't Mind If I Do (NY: Touchstone, 2008 ), p. 121.

There was one kind hostess at a place called the Knife and Fork, to whom I turned for aid and comfort when we were starving on Thanksgiving. "There's a turkey in the freezer," she said sweetly. "It's yours."

I went back into the freezer and picked up a huge thirty-five pound bird and hid it under my raincoat. But on my way out, who should come in but the owner, stationing himself between me and the door and chatting with the cashier. I didn't dare walk past him. I looked like a pregnant man with this bulge under my raincoat. Hollywood was full of weirdos, but I was pushing it here. So I ordered a cup of coffee at the counter and bided my time. And bided and bided... The owner didn't move, and the turkey began defrosting. Soon a puddle was forming at my feet. This pregnant man looked like he was either peeing or breaking water. Then, even worse, the long turkey neck defrosted and fell off into my lap, between my legs. When the owner finally walked away, I hightailed it out the door, leaving a huge flood at the counter behind me. Talk about giving thanks. We cooked that bird and lived on it for weeks.