I
didn’t realize a bet had been made.
It
was around noon, and I had been dispatched to pick up lunch for
the group. A local specialty… hot weiners. Some fries. (Wein-O-Rama,
people. Get to Wein-O-Rama. Can’t add anything else to that recommendation.)
While
I was away, some preparations were slowly beginning to take shape.
Plates. Napkins. All of us have seen the drill. One person went
for the food, the others kind of converse and such, while in no
particular rush also grab some silverware and beverages and such.
Did
I mention the fries? Good. Because that’s where the fun starts.
While
getting a few things set up, someone asked about salt. And my
mother-in-law responded by saying she didn’t have any.
I
will repeat that, elaborating slightly, and allow you a moment
to let it sink in.
Lunch
visit with some family. I’m out getting the food. Mother-in-law
is asked where she keeps the salt in her house. She responds there
isn’t any.
No
salt.
At
all.
No
salt in the house.
No
shaker on the table. No container in the cupboard. No packets
in the car.
No
salt.
What
kinds of things do you expect to find in a house or apartment?
I mean, the entire house or apartment. The whole thing.
I
mentioned a bet.
Before
I returned, a discussion broke out over the salt revelation. Someone
was disappointed she wouldn’t have salt for her fries. That’s
when my wife said I would have some with me. A few exchanges,
a bit of surprise as to why I would ever think to get salt, and
you see where this is going: “I bet he will.”
In
the restaurant, someone asked if I wanted some vinegar for the
fries. (That’s a big thing in Rhode Island. And growing up, I
thought the same thing you did. Try it. Trust me. It’s a not every
time, but once every so often treat. Malt vinegar on your fries.
(And Wein-O-Rama. You’re welcome.)) I said yes to the offer of
vinegar packets, not knowing if my mother-in-law would have malt
vinegar. Since we had begun wandering down that path, I asked
if she had some salt, pepper and ketchup as well. She did.
And
so, I arrived with salt, and Terry won the bet.
The
thought hung with me though.
I
remember as a kid thinking that everyone had a phone in their
house.
It
just made sense. That was the connection to the outside world.
It was how you made doctor’s appointments. It was how you ordered
a pizza. It was how you found out if you could sleep over at a
friend’s house. It was how you arranged a delivery of heating
oil. Didn’t everyone have a phone?
Back
to that things in a house question? In a more focused version
of it, what kinds of things do you expect to find in a kitchen?
If
I told you there was no microwave, you likely wouldn’t blink.
Only one coffee mug, and you might understand that there weren’t
many coffee drinkers around. But no salt?
Salt
and pepper are kind of the telephone of the kitchen. You don’t
even ask, you just kind of assume it’s there.
(But
is it? I mean, come on, there are folks all over the place living
without landlines these days. If you went into a house, would
you automatically find a phone to use? Chances are good you’re
more likely to find salt.)
Every
so often I bump into these things. Assumption-based things where
people just kind of think everyone is operating from a similar
set of circumstances. Like texting.
For
years I had a cell phone, but couldn’t text. I had one of those
flip-style phones. It was rare enough that any people were calling
me, and I certainly didn’t have any need for the ability to send
or receive texts. Even today, as I write this essay, roughly 60%
of the time I’ve been a cell phone owner I couldn’t text. It will
still be a few years before we hit the 50-50 mark.
I
actually had people coming up to me and asking why I ignored them.
When I tried to figure out what they meant, it came out that I
hadn’t returned their text. You know… the one I didn’t receive
because I couldn’t receive it. That always got a chuckle.
It’s
also more believable than a house with no salt. But, I know of
at least one place where that’s true.