L u n a t a l k

There are some combinations that are just flat-out wrong. I found one this week. Both recommendations from the same friend.

First item: a salad. Specifically, the grilled Asian chicken salad from Jack in the Box. This friend, normally a rational person, came under the influence of the salad recently and wouldn’t let the subject drop. “It’s got crunchy things” were words that would come to haunt me. There would be no peace until I tried the salad.

There is a Jack in the Box near me. There was an empty lot on the corner for years and then suddenly, Jack’s sinister bobbing head loomed over the movie-going traffic. I turn that corner regularly, but never noticed any construction. Do fast food places splorp into being like pod people from Night of the Living Dead? However it came into existence, I did not have the excuse of lack of opportunity. In fact, I’m convinced if I had put it off longer another Jack in the Box would splorp even closer to home. And then another. Until…

I got in the car, drove over and, under Jack’s staring blue eye, bought the salad. I drove it home.

The salad does indeed have crunchy things. All in all it was a completely inoffensive salad and reasonable choice on a menu long on grease and dead cows.

I settled in for a munch and a read. This brings me to the second item: a book.

Now here’s a piece of advice I hope you’ll take to heart. “Man’s Search for Meaning,” Viktor Frankl’s heartbreaking memoir of survival in Nazi concentration camps, while excellent and even “must read” is not what you want going into your eyes while crunchy salad bits are going into your mouth.

World War II may have ended over sixty years ago, but the Germans still have a lot to answer for. And now they can add ruination of a salad to the list of war crimes.

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