Duck! Soup!

(When healthy food kills you, who do you call?)

This week, I made a fascinating culinary discovery, which I'll share with you here, absolutely free. Got a pen ready? Okay. If you violently shake a can of Campbell's soup before cooking, you may find that it can slip from your grasp and then imitate a Wile E. Coyote-style kitchen wall-penetrating missile.

I may be the only person on Earth who, while innocently transporting something as NATO-neutral as a border-agnostic tin of tame tomato soup, could be warned, "Careful! You could put somebody's eye out!"

Leave it to me to go ballistic with broth.

And trust me – when a high-speed can of hearty vegetables impacts with innocent sheetrock, what a sound it makes! It sounds a lot like a footfall from that rogue Jurassic Park T-Rex, pursuing a J-Park jeep and about to lay into a can of condensed Jeff Goldblum, but with more sodium.

So now I need to find a handyman – some skilled expert who can de-Campbell-ize my dented kitchen wall. And that presents a new challenge. Among the many things that I don't do well (repairing drywall, respecting authority, holding food), I always seem to have a hard go at actually finding a company or service's phone number in the phone book. Specifically, in those irritating yellowed pages.

The white pages are a snap, as long as you know more about the person you need to call than just "Bob." Personally, I can only remember the last names of about eight people, and six of those people are in my immediate family.

And forget the blue pages. Only the government would list a City Manager, and an Assistant City Manager, and a Deputy Assistant City Manager, and then show them all as having the same phone number. And after you learn that your tax dollars are paying for some government drone with the job title "Adjutant Assisting Pro-Tem Secretary to the Assistant Sitting Under-Secretary to the As-Yet Unindicted East Coast Director for Post-Menopausal Shrimp Stress Research Grants," you're too depressed to bother calling anybody anyway.

On the other hand, the canary-colored pages were designed specifically to make it easy to find stuff. Weren't they? The phone company is our friend, right? That's what I was always taught as a child, anyway, back at Ma Bell High School, and every summer at Telecom Monopoly Employee's Union Vacation Bible School.

But the lemon page listings don't help: they only confuse the issue. Sure, there are the eye-poppingly obvious listings: Welding (See Also 'Metalworking'). Zippers. Cabinetry (See Also 'Kitchens' and 'Caskets'). Small Caliber Ammunition. Fish Bait. All the things your average guy needs, if your average guy is involved in Chicago politics and is going to spend the weekend "cleaning up some loose ends."

Anything more complex, though, and the trouble begins. Because the phone company's Category Team refuses to call anything by the same name that we use here on Earth. I can never guess what term they're using to point at the term I'm using.

You know what I mean:  Let's say you need your grass cut. So what you need is the phone number of some bipedal mammal who can parse the straightforward sentence, "If you will cut my grass, I will pay you." Granted, in addition to being able to walk upright and read single syllable words, you would also prefer somebody who's unindicted, who's been in the country more than 20 days, and who still has a few of their original teeth (though, to be fair, that's more than we expect from sitting members of Congress).

So, being a clever citizen, you thumb-rifle through the Jaundice Pages to the C's (for 'cut'). Nothing. On, then, to the G's (for 'grass'). Nothing. On a whim, you think 'Lawnmower Man' and try the S's (for 'very weird Stephen King short story that was the victim of possibly the worst movie adaptation of all time'). Nada. Zip. Bupkis.

(Because you weren't paying attention at school, you don't think to try 'peat' or 'sod.' Not that it would've mattered.)

See, the Banana Book calls that particular activity 'Lawn Maintenance" or 'Landscaping' (See Also 'Lawn Maintenance') or 'Modular Waterfall Gardens That Double As Mosquito Breeding Farms.' At least, that what's they call it today. Next week, try looking up 'Landscaping' and you'll get nothing but a cross-reference that says "See Also 'Unemployed Beach-Front Property Realtors That Now Cut Grass.'" Well, that and a giant refrigerator magnet from a legal firm, just dropping by to check on your health. ("Ever been hurt by a waterfall garden? Ever been pregnant? Ever taken Cantsleepital? Ever known anyone who was taking Cantsleepital while standing near a pregnant waterfall garden? Ever spelled 'asbestos' correctly? If so, you may be entitled to millions of dollars in settlement claims of which, after our fees and costs, you will get to keep about seventy-five cents! Call 'We Are Legion' Legal Services today!")

So the upshot is you just can't easily use the Butter-Colored Pages to find something as commonplace as lawn mowing. On the other hand, if you're staring helplessly at a flat coil (whatever that is), and are desperately in need of someone who can "distr" it (whatever that is), you can riffle right to a category called 'Springs-Coil, Flat, Etc. Distrs & Mfrs.' (What a "distr" is, I don't know. And based on what passes as "acceptable" on TV sitcoms these days, what a "mfr" is short for, I don't want to know.)

Besides, it seems to me that "flat coil" is an oxymoron. It's either coiled, or it's flat. And if you're looking for tactical help to deal with a straight piece of flat wire, well, maybe you have bigger issues than finding the right distr for your (ex)coil. It's like the thinking behind having a listing for "Breast-Feeding Coordinator." I mean, I ask you – how dumb do you have to be to need someone to swing round and coordinate your breast-feeding?

Imagine, if you will, Day Five at "Toni's School of Future Beauticians & Breast-Feeding Coordinators."

Instructor:  "Very good, class! Next week … the other one!"

And then there's all that "See Also" phone book clutter. To be fair, I'm sure that the Ochre Gourd Pages had the best of intentions when they came up with the "See Also" concept. But their implementation of the concept leaves a lot to be desired, kind of like the European Union, or microwaveable pork. For example, category 'Floor Waxing' recommends you "See Also 'Floor Laying'."

Sorry. That's just a flawed analogy. Waxing and Laying? That's not even close, as any self-respecting hen will tell you.

Why not some seriously useful cross-referencing?

 

College Athletics (See Also 'Professional Athletics')
Chicago Politics (See Also 'Lake Michigan' and 'Sonar, Retail')
Catholic Churches (See Also 'Sins, Carnal' and 'Sins, Venal')
Poultry Discipline (See Also 'Hen Waxing')
Doughnuts, Wholesale (See Also 'Men's Plus-Sized Jeans')
'Die Hard' Sequels (See Also 'Enough Already')
Baptist Churches, Southern (See Also 'Potato Salad Recipes')
Cantsleepital, Retail, (Don't See Also 'Heavy Machinery')
Cantsleepital, Potentially Fatal Side-Effects (See Also 'Giant Refrigerator Magnets, Obnoxious')
Predestination Services (Foresee Also 'Presbyterian Churches')
Nagging Wife, Persistent (See Also 'Diamonds, Retail')
Hot Dogs, Total Enlightenment (See Also 'Make Me One With Everything')
Hope (See Also 'Change')
Jury Tampering, Wholesale (See Also 'Chicago Politics')

 

And sometimes, cross-referencing just fails. Just. Simply. Fails. Here's an example:  in the Summer Squash-colored pages of a nearby phone book that I borrowed (See Also 'stole'), I noticed this handy listing:  Fish Ponds (See Also 'Fish Ponds').

On the other hand, 'Chimney Lining Materials' was listed just next to 'Chinese Food Products.'

Hmm. Maybe these guys are smarter than I thought.

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