Driving Doctor Mayhem

[28] I Am Platypus

"You know," Cricket said during his shift one afternoon, "I had this one friend, uh, Rob-ert--"

I didn't look up from my newspaper, making some sort of humming sound that was the social equivalent to saying 'go on' without having to exert the effort necessary to actually say 'go on.' A few too many weeks had passed, but I was still holding out a little hope that the Mayor's mansion getting egged would make a splash in the lifestyle section.

We deserved that, at the very least. Both of us smelled like rotten eggs for eons after that. I think even Norma noticed, but she was too polite to say anything.

He shifted his weight around, looking for a place to begin. "Yeah, well, she--um--he had this awful boss. I mean, this guy was bonkers. And do you want to know what happened? To Robert, I mean."

"Hm?" I speed-read through the gossip columns, which were pretty un-juicy in Jiminyville: So-and-So's marrying So-and-So; What's Her Face was spotted at That New Restaurant Over There; Oh hey look, we have a picture of The Dude You See Sporadically's cute baby!

"He died. He's dead now."

My head snapped up. "Wait, who?"

"Uh, Robert."

My bullshit senses are tingling. "Oh wow," I deadpanned, turning to the next page.

My dry remark was followed by a long silence before Cricket tacked on, "I sort of have a confession."

Giving in to the fact that the people of Jiminyville would never learn of Doc and my noble conquests, I neatly folded up the newspaper and tossed it behind my head. "What, Cricket?"

"I lied. Robert isn't even real," he sighed, "Look what I've been driven to do--this is sleazy!"

"I guess I can find it in my heart to forgive you," I sighed melodramatically, fighting the urge to chuckle. Missing the note of sarcasm, a look of mortification passed over Cricket's face for a second, and I added hastily, "Really, it's okay, dude."

"But I lied to you," he protested, nervously fixing his glasses. "I'm, uh, I'm supposed to be a good person, and I lied, and that's not good. Ergo, I am a not a good person; I am a bad person."

"C'mon Cricket. By that logic, platypuses have lungs; I have lungs; I am platypus."

"No, uh, no, that's sort of incorrect, Banksy."

"My point, exactly."

"I'm confused."

"And I forgive you for that, too."

I'm sure Cricket would've responded, but he was interrupted by Gideon bursting into the Dairy Queen. "Banksy! John needs us--Hey! Milkshakes!"

Tugging on the hem of his shirt, I whispered, "Doc needs us, Gideon?"

I could see Crickets eyes flash at the sight of my gigantic companion, and I could practically read his mind: attractive person, attractive person, mayday, send help. "How may I help you, sir?" he squeaked, straightening up.

Gideon, on the other hand, was seemingly unaware of this, rocking back and forth and squinting at the menu critically. "Can you make a milkshake that has every topping on it?"

"That'd be a little, uh, pricey, sir."

When his newest customer didn't show any sign of changing his mind, Cricket started making him his milkshake anyway.

"Doc needs us?" I repeated.

Gideon nodded. "Yeah, something about keys and dinosaur toys. And ice."

I glanced at the exit. "Shouldn't we be going, then?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to surprise him with the best milkshake ever!"

"Just so you know," Cricket interrupted, "This might not taste good, uh, sir. There are, there are gummy worms and coconut shreds and peanut butter chips in here. You might be disappointed."

I made a face, but Gideon was unfazed. "Thank you for your concern, but John loves repulsive things. When he was a kid, he had a two-headed goldfish and a three-legged dog."

"Huh. Really?" I chirped.

Gideon nodded, graciously accepting the milkshake from an increasingly befuddled Cricket. "And a tarantula named Steve."

Seeing the confusion on his brand new cashier friend's face he attempted to clarify, adding on, "I'm getting a milkshake for my boyfriend. He's been stressed out lately, you know, work. I'm sure you understand, young man; cashiers are the unsung heroes of fast food chains, I've heard."

For the first time in a while, Cricket broke into a real smile. "It's not too bad," he whispered, "I think that title belongs to the fry cooks."

"Preach. I used to be a fry cook in college--"

I'll cut to the chase. This small talk went on for about ten more minutes, until I practically dragged Gideon out by his ankles, wondering which was the bigger flaw: over-the-top friendliness or having the capacity to see any amount of friendliness as a flaw in the first place.