Whoever came up with the idea of flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil? Was it a bunch of forklift drivers in a toy factory in NW Minnesota? Perhaps a woman in a John Deere 4x4 tractor pulling a field roller across a section of sandy loam near Crookston? Or maybe a cook basting walleye filets with lemon juice at the Oak Island Resort on the Lake of the Woods? Whoever it was who paused to contemplate fallopian tubes and poppyseed oil in the same sentence, in presumably deep thought about fertilization, begs consideration. I mean, of all the things I heard on MPR that Wednesday, May 18th, 2017, including Trumps Tweets, Mueller’s new assignment, independent prosecutors, MPR’s member drive and reasons to contribute toward their fine programming, it wasn’t until after 2:00 PM CST that BBC initiated this conversation about flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil that really captured my imagination.
“Why not olive oil?” I thought to myself, steering my car into a parking space at the toy factory where I was to work for another 25 working days.
“Did they discount olive oil? Doesn’t poppyseed oil have seeds?”
I started thinking of those other unlikely combinations that someone thought of and the public had embraced without so much as a thought, in the free time I had at work, as infrequent as it was. Combinations like chocolate and peanut butter, cheese and apple pie, coca cola and chrome bumpers, bug spray and plastic headlights for cars, etc, etc.
When I entered the toy factory break room prior to the beginning of shift, an over-zealous Canadian working here on a permit visa raised his hand high in solicitous greeting, so I answered him,
"Mon amie, Dubois!” gesturing to him in kind. “Avez-vous une question ou devez-vous aller aux toilettes?
He smiled genuinely, as all over zealous Canadians seem to do, then replied feebly,
“Uh, no.”
“Well, tell me eh,“ I said switching to Anglais and employing the popular Canadian expressionistic verb tense, “Who thought of flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil? And don’t be telling me, it was the same individual who perfected bovine artifical insemination and invented shoulder-length rubber gloves, eh.”
Dubois looked at me blankly, then started to flex his tattooed muscled forearms to make Lady Luck dance. Turning his head away ever so slightly, he began watching his own reflection in the shiny soft drink machine doors and smiled.
Further inquiries of others, fell on deaf ears, as my fellow coworkers hurriedly immersed themselves in smartphone chatter, and perused heavy equipment auction sales brochures, chuckling to themselves about an obviously over-priced 1973 International 2WD loader tractor.
That’s one thing about a manufacturing plant in NW Minnesota, unless you’re talking about hockey, ice fishing (or summer fishing) or hockey, conversations about anything else do not elicit serious attention.
“Why not olive oil?” I thought to myself, steering my car into a parking space at the toy factory where I was to work for another 25 working days.
“Did they discount olive oil? Doesn’t poppyseed oil have seeds?”
I started thinking of those other unlikely combinations that someone thought of and the public had embraced without so much as a thought, in the free time I had at work, as infrequent as it was. Combinations like chocolate and peanut butter, cheese and apple pie, coca cola and chrome bumpers, bug spray and plastic headlights for cars, etc, etc.
When I entered the toy factory break room prior to the beginning of shift, an over-zealous Canadian working here on a permit visa raised his hand high in solicitous greeting, so I answered him,
"Mon amie, Dubois!” gesturing to him in kind. “Avez-vous une question ou devez-vous aller aux toilettes?
He smiled genuinely, as all over zealous Canadians seem to do, then replied feebly,
“Uh, no.”
“Well, tell me eh,“ I said switching to Anglais and employing the popular Canadian expressionistic verb tense, “Who thought of flushing fallopian tubes with poppy seed oil? And don’t be telling me, it was the same individual who perfected bovine artifical insemination and invented shoulder-length rubber gloves, eh.”
Dubois looked at me blankly, then started to flex his tattooed muscled forearms to make Lady Luck dance. Turning his head away ever so slightly, he began watching his own reflection in the shiny soft drink machine doors and smiled.
Further inquiries of others, fell on deaf ears, as my fellow coworkers hurriedly immersed themselves in smartphone chatter, and perused heavy equipment auction sales brochures, chuckling to themselves about an obviously over-priced 1973 International 2WD loader tractor.
That’s one thing about a manufacturing plant in NW Minnesota, unless you’re talking about hockey, ice fishing (or summer fishing) or hockey, conversations about anything else do not elicit serious attention.
Comments