Never Trust A Rotarian

*** continued from previous post ***


"So," Mark said, glancing at his demon-twin, "where are you guys from in THE STATES?"

Ah. Social pleasantries. There just may be hope yet! I look at your mom to see if she's picked up on the subtle change in the tone of the conversation. It was hard to tell. I noticed that during the last few minutes she'd started to twitch slightly.

"We're from the Seattle area. Well, actually a small town about 40 miles southeast of Seattle next to the Cascade foothills."

I find that adding 'small town' usually will put people at ease. I have no idea why. Maniacs and psychopaths are abundant in small towns. Why, visit any Rotary Club meeting and you're sure to see at least three serial killers at any given time. Don't even get me started on local Chambers of Commerce. Let's just say that most of the Boards of Director's for Chambers are full-blown, unrepentant, closet Satan worshipers. Anyway, back to the small town thingee. I look to the group to see if this bit of info has had a calming effect.

More simple nodding, but this time I detect a slightly positive vibe.

Carl spoke for the first time. His voice was exactly like his brothers, but a tad higher. "I've been through Seattle a few times."

Pause. Silence. I waited for the follow up. The 'and it's a really nice place', or 'incredible scenery', or 'not as bad as I expected'. But no . . . nothing followed. Just a blank stare.

"Oh," I remarked, "well . . . good!" I mean really, what else could I say?

"Yeah," he said, "too many people for my taste."

Martha, his mother, cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. Admiration for this beautiful lady had now blossomed into full blown love.

I study Carl. How dare he not acknowledge the awesomeness that is the Pacific Northwest? And I'm not fond of your nose there chuckles, but I'm not going to point it out. Well, at least not yet. The day is young. I sized up the brothers as a unit. Even though they could outrun me, I was pretty sure that in a street fight I could handle myself. Or at least bean them with my cane into some form of submission. Mom could have kicked their asses straight up, but I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to that.

*** the journey continues ***