Thursday, January 17, 2013

That's Mrs. Oracle to You!

The Oracle at Delphi after being asked one too many dopey questions.

One of the mystifying parts of my job description as the Oracle of Saint Cloud is being expected to answer unanswerable questions. It ranks right up there with being asked to smell moldy cheese to determine “goodness.”

It usually happened like this:

 While napping—and happy, some miscellaneous kid would shove a block of sharp cheddar under my nose and screech, “Smell this! Is it still good?”

To which I would reply, without opening my eyes, “Sure. Sure. Just cut off the green stuff.”

But that’s not really the oracle part of my job, that’s more the food and drug administration part of my job.

The oracle part of my job consists of being asked stupid questions. Questions to which there are no rational answers. Questions that would stump people who think they know everything—like graduates of state universities. Questions like . . .

“Why did the cat wee-wee on all the Christmas decorations?”

“What is wrong with that crazy kid, and why won’t he quit sucking ink out the red magic markers?” 

“Why is that goat eating charcoal?”

“When will this kid learn to speak recognizable English?”

“What’s the best way to get bubble gum out of buttocks hair?”

Oh wait. That last question is one that I asked, back when my husband sat on a wad of bubble gum that wicked children had spit out in the bathtub. That question actually has an answer, but you’ll need to email me for the information.

And then there’s the ever-popular, “Why can’t anyone in the entire western hemisphere—except me—press the spring loaded toilet paper holder out, slip a new roll of toilet paper on, and pop the sucker back into the wall fixture?”

Oh wait!  That’s my question too. Hey, you know what I need? I need my own personal oracle, and then I could ask her the answers to all those other dopey questions.

Linda (Crystal Ball) Zern

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