Dr. Candella’s next volunteer proves the wonders of apple pie.
There was a knock on my door.
“Open,” I called cheerfully.
The young man was tall, well over 6 feet and husky. He looked strong and healthy. Dressed in a brown coat several sizes too small for his large frame, he had on a yellow tie and his shirt collar was frayed. I sensed a suit was not my new visitor’s usual wearing apparel. He looked like he had lost his best friend.
He appeared uncomfortable and made an effort to straighten his tie and smooth the wrinkled collar of his shirt. His efforts came to naught. The young man was about 25. I had seen him before.
“I am Homer Camoda, sir. I work for the university. I am a janitor. Mrs. Collyburn, a lady I know in the bakery department downstairs, told me you had a machine that made her feel better. I want to try it.”
Mr. Camoda was direct and to the point. Most men in his situation who cleaned toilets and mopped floors for a living would have given themselves the nobler title of custodian rather than confess to being a plain janitor. I liked that but I needed subjects with more life experiences. I think he knew I was about to refuse his request.
He spoke quickly.
“Before you say no to me, sir, let me tell you why I came to see you.”
Reluctantly, I waved him to a chair.
“Although I am young and I haven’t had much experience with life I have suffered a lot. I am half the man I was a year ago. I can hardly push my broom or clean the toilets like I used to. My mind wanders all over the place. I can’t think straight. I cry sometimes and I don’t know why.”
“When my boss, Mr. Boscolinni gave me instructions last week to mop down the man’s shower room in the basement while nobody was using the showers, I went to the ladies shower room by mistake. A coupl’a dozen freshman ladies were taking showers after their soccer practice. My coming in sudden like caused lottsa screaming and yelling. Everything went crazy when I came in on ‘em. I ran outta there like a scalded hound before anyone could call the campus police.”
Homer flushed crimson at the memory. He heaved a sigh that threatened to burst his coat buttons.
“The cause of all my troubles is apple pie.”
I could not have imagined hearing apple pie as a reason for his wanting to enter my Wish Machine. Now I was really interested. I wanted to hear more. He told me his story.
“Professor, I have always loved apple pie. I craved apple pie all my life. From the time I was a toddler and my mother made apple pie I found the apple pie in the pantry where she hid it under the potatoes to save it for dinner. I always found it. My nose can smell an apple pie from 100 feet away. I think I was born for it. I gobbled up the pie before my six brothers got any. The whippings and the scolding didn’t do any good. I had to have my apple pie.”
“A year ago I went on vacation. I done good work for Mr. Boscolinni, my boss, and he gave me an extra week off. I drove my pickup truck to visit the Grand Canyon.”
Homer smiled shyly.
“When I got there I was gonna stand on the edge and look down to see how far it was to the bottom. My stomach turns over when I think about it but it was the grandest thing I could do, next to eating apple pie. I couldn’t wait.”
“I drove straight through from home. About sundown I got real hungry. I came to a town. The sign on the highway said the town was named Rooster Flats. I couldn’t see why. I didn’t see no roosters, not even a chicken. I figured it probably had a place to eat. Like I said, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything except a dozen sandwiches and two quarts a’ milk since breakfast.”
“Right near the road sign that said Rooster Flats I saw another sign. It was small, about 2 feet high, and the stick that was holding it up was falling down. I couldn’t make out the scrawled letters but two words caught my eye like a piece of scrap paper on the floor in the hallways always catches my eye. That’s what makes me so good at my job.”
Homer realized belatedly he had wandered from the point of his tale.
“I’m sorry, Doc. My mind ain’t so clear anymore.”
“Anyways, the words on the sign was real small and not easy to make out. Whoever made the sign couldn’t print no better than me. I stopped my car and bent down to read the sign better. It said,
GOOD APPLE PIES
at the
ROOSTER FLATS EATERY”
Following the sign, Homer found his apple pie but found a lot more as well.
