“I Have To Do WHAT?”
(A Thanksgiving Vignette)
John Gage stared at his partner in disbelief.
“You want me to stick my hand WHERE?”
Roy sighed patiently before answering, “Inside the turkey carcass.”
“And you want me to pull out WHAT?”
“The heart and the giblets. And then up here the neck.”
“Eeewww. That’s gross. Just gross.”
“Aw, c’mon, Johnny. You’re a paramedic, for goodness sake. You face nasty things almost every shift.”
“Yeah, but I’m tellin’ ya, Roy, this is different.”
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know. It just is! You do it.”
“Why not?” Johnny couldn’t help the tiny whine that entered his voice.
“Because I’m not the one who volunteered to cook the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner here at the station.”
“But . . . but . . .”
“Huh uh. No way. I volunteered to bring the stuffing, and I did that. The turkey is all yours, Junior.”
Johnny stared at the turkey sitting in the sink before him. Biting his lower lip, he reluctantly sunk his hand into the nether regions of the carcass. Oh, man. This is disgusting. Ugh. Eeewww. What is that mushy stuff? He glared over at his very unhelpful partner.
“You know what, partner? The next time I volunteer it’s going to be to bring the sweet potatoes!” Gee, I don’t know if I really want to even eat after this. Yuck.