here I am. No newspapers. No li tter. No evidence of the world outside its borders
like a casino, really.
Endless distractions. It could be 2001, it could be 1986, and it could be 2008. And all these young parents
so much younger than me — no old people save for Dad. A few bored and embarrassed teenagers. This is supposed to be li fe-affirming ? This place is like some cosmic dream crusher. All you can get out of a
place like this is a creepy li tt le tingle that lets you know your kid is never going to be anything more than a customer -that the whole world is being turned into a casino.
'Wade.'
It was Norm, a ponytailed beanpole, no child in tow, with skin the pale yello w color of those with
overtaxed livers. He was carrying an attache case, an item that stood out in Disney World like a machine gun. Norm motioned for Wade to follo w him into an olde-time restaurant away from the throng . Wade
grabbed Ted and Bryan and headed after Norm into the restaurant, where he'd already secured a table in the far corner.
'Norm, this is my dad, Ted, and my bro ther, Bryan.' 'Charmed.' Norm made no eff ort to shake hands.
There was an awkward silent moment, and then Ted asked, 'So, Norm, what is it you do?' 'I follo w in my father's footsteps.'
'What did your father do?'
Wade cut in, 'Dad, I'm sure Norm doesn' t want to be job-interviewed.'
'No, Wade. It 's OK,' Norm said. He turned to Ted. 'After World War II, my father made his living returning stolen artw ork to its righ tf ul owners.'
'Decent,' said Ted.
'Yes. Very decent. Very noble. And you can just imagine the bargains and temptations and bribes that came my father's way. And you kno w what? Not once did he ever succumb.'
'Really now?'
'Yes, Ted, really. And because of this nobili ty, we spent our lives in a tw o-and-a-half-bedroom Monopol y token of a house in one of Kansas City's lesser suburb s.'
'I see.'
A waitress in period costume broke in and demanded their beverage order. They ordered iced teas and she left.
Norm continued. 'Fortunately, dear old Dad allo wed me to escort him on many of his jaunts. I'll never
forget the day we returned a Rubens to a camp survivor who once owned a chain of department stores in Baden-Wür temburg . I become warm and verklempt every time I think abou t it. But that's not too often, really.'
Four iced teas were plunk ed onto the table. From his attache case Norm removed a flask of peppermin t schnapps. 'The favored beverage of teenagers around the world. It rots my gut, but leaves my breath
min ty fresh. Life is such a collection of li tt le trade-offs.' 'Go on,' said Ted. 'You were talking abou t your father.'
Norm finished spiking his iced tea. 'Yes, well, dear old Dad let me come along on his trips, and the greatest gift he ever gave me was making a proud moral poin t of ensuring I knew who among his clientele were the biggest bribers, sleazebags and connections in the business.' He sipped his tea. 'A
toast—' The four men raised their glasses. 'To dear old Dad.' They toasted and then Norm 's face became almost wistf ul. 'His Piper Cherokee hit a set of utili ty lines outside El Paso in 1981, after which I took over the family business. Needless to say, I do not live in a tw o-and-a-half bedroom Monopol y token house.'
Ted said, 'The war ended over fifty years ago, Norm. You mean you can still do good business finding and returning loo t after all these years?'
'The war? Pffft . These days my job is to—' He paused. 'Find objects, find people, and then match them up.'
Bryan said, 'So you're not a drug dealer then.'
Norm howled. Ted slapped Bryan on the chest. 'Christ, what a loser, Bryan. Keep your trap shut.' Norm stopped laughing enough to say, 'No, Bryan, no drugs.'
From across the restaurant came a commo tion. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we have an impor tant
announcement to make. Young Cicely at this table here is eight years old today. Please join us in singing her a very " Happy Birthday".' Young Cicely,
like a casino, really.
Endless distractions. It could be 2001, it could be 1986, and it could be 2008. And all these young parents
so much younger than me — no old people save for Dad. A few bored and embarrassed teenagers. This is supposed to be li fe-affirming ? This place is like some cosmic dream crusher. All you can get out of a
place like this is a creepy li tt le tingle that lets you know your kid is never going to be anything more than a customer -that the whole world is being turned into a casino.
'Wade.'
It was Norm, a ponytailed beanpole, no child in tow, with skin the pale yello w color of those with
overtaxed livers. He was carrying an attache case, an item that stood out in Disney World like a machine gun. Norm motioned for Wade to follo w him into an olde-time restaurant away from the throng . Wade
grabbed Ted and Bryan and headed after Norm into the restaurant, where he'd already secured a table in the far corner.
'Norm, this is my dad, Ted, and my bro ther, Bryan.' 'Charmed.' Norm made no eff ort to shake hands.
There was an awkward silent moment, and then Ted asked, 'So, Norm, what is it you do?' 'I follo w in my father's footsteps.'
'What did your father do?'
Wade cut in, 'Dad, I'm sure Norm doesn' t want to be job-interviewed.'
'No, Wade. It 's OK,' Norm said. He turned to Ted. 'After World War II, my father made his living returning stolen artw ork to its righ tf ul owners.'
'Decent,' said Ted.
'Yes. Very decent. Very noble. And you can just imagine the bargains and temptations and bribes that came my father's way. And you kno w what? Not once did he ever succumb.'
'Really now?'
'Yes, Ted, really. And because of this nobili ty, we spent our lives in a tw o-and-a-half-bedroom Monopol y token of a house in one of Kansas City's lesser suburb s.'
'I see.'
A waitress in period costume broke in and demanded their beverage order. They ordered iced teas and she left.
Norm continued. 'Fortunately, dear old Dad allo wed me to escort him on many of his jaunts. I'll never
forget the day we returned a Rubens to a camp survivor who once owned a chain of department stores in Baden-Wür temburg . I become warm and verklempt every time I think abou t it. But that's not too often, really.'
Four iced teas were plunk ed onto the table. From his attache case Norm removed a flask of peppermin t schnapps. 'The favored beverage of teenagers around the world. It rots my gut, but leaves my breath
min ty fresh. Life is such a collection of li tt le trade-offs.' 'Go on,' said Ted. 'You were talking abou t your father.'
Norm finished spiking his iced tea. 'Yes, well, dear old Dad let me come along on his trips, and the greatest gift he ever gave me was making a proud moral poin t of ensuring I knew who among his clientele were the biggest bribers, sleazebags and connections in the business.' He sipped his tea. 'A
toast—' The four men raised their glasses. 'To dear old Dad.' They toasted and then Norm 's face became almost wistf ul. 'His Piper Cherokee hit a set of utili ty lines outside El Paso in 1981, after which I took over the family business. Needless to say, I do not live in a tw o-and-a-half bedroom Monopol y token house.'
Ted said, 'The war ended over fifty years ago, Norm. You mean you can still do good business finding and returning loo t after all these years?'
'The war? Pffft . These days my job is to—' He paused. 'Find objects, find people, and then match them up.'
Bryan said, 'So you're not a drug dealer then.'
Norm howled. Ted slapped Bryan on the chest. 'Christ, what a loser, Bryan. Keep your trap shut.' Norm stopped laughing enough to say, 'No, Bryan, no drugs.'
From across the restaurant came a commo tion. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we have an impor tant
announcement to make. Young Cicely at this table here is eight years old today. Please join us in singing her a very " Happy Birthday".' Young Cicely,
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