notes/disclaimers
*
“Why? Why is this my life?”
“Now, Ray. . . .”
“Oh, no. Don’t you ‘Now, Ray,’ me, Benny. Besides, this is all your fault.”
“Really, Ray. When Leftenant Welsh said that an undercover operation was
planned for a local restaurant, you were amongst the first to volunteer.”
“Yeah, but I thought it was gonna be somewhere classy like Scaletti’s.”
“This is a local restaurant.”
“It’s McDonald’s!”
“Which I believe does fit under the description of a restaurant.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.’
“No, it doesn’t, Benny. McDonald’s is not a restaurant. It’s a place to get
cheap crap fast when you’re starvin’ and don’t have time for real food.”
“Now, that’s just silly, Ray.”
“Any sillier than wearin’ this shit? I don’t think so.”
“Polyester is not compiled from. . .fecal material, Ray, and you know it.”
“Huh. It’s damn close, though. I think Satan developed it as a special
torture in those who go to hell. And that’s where I am now: Hell. Geeze,
lady, can’t you just hold on one minute? I got your meal. Here!”
“Ray, you must stop scratching. It is unseemly.”
“Unseemly? Hell, this uniform’s uncomfortable, Benny. I think I got an
allergy to polyester or something.”
“If I am able to tolerate my red serge uniform for an average of one hundred
ninety-seven and one-fourth days each year. . .”
“A hundred-ninety-seven and. . .? How you come by that figure, Benny? The
Official Mountie Math Manual? Okay, okay, kid, here’s your shake. Now beat
it!”
“Ray, it doesn’t take any more time to be rude than it does to be friendly.”
“Maybe, but it’s a lot less fun. Come on, now, the one hundred-whatever
days.”
“It depends on whether or not it is a leap year, Ray.”
“Naturally. So, say it’s a regular year.”
“Well, in the course of a three hundred sixty five point twenty-five day
year -”
“Wait a minute. No, not you; I mean Mr. Almanac, here. You, I got your
order: six cheeseburger and four hamburger Happy Meals, seven Cokes, one
Sprite, a Dr. Pepper and a lemonade. That’s thirty-four sixty-three. No, we
don’t provide Ritalin with Happy Meals. Yeah, it’s an idea. . . okay, now.
One-ninety-seven and a fourth days each year in the serge. How?”
“In the course of a three hun-”
“I know how many damn days are in a year. How’d you get the one-hundred
ninety-something?”
“If you subtract an average of fifty-two Sundays, twenty-six Saturdays,
fourteen vacation days, and ten national holidays - Would you like fries
with that? No? Four ninety-five, and thank you kindly. . .as I was saying -”
“Canadian holidays, Benny? Like Hug your Moose Day?”
“That is not a national holiday, Ray. However, in Inuvik, they do celebrate
-”
“God, I hate my life!”
“Do you or do you not want to hear this, Ray? After all, you did ask.”
“I live for it, Benny. Carry on.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Who, me? Never. Come on, I’m all ears.”
“Don’tcha mean all nose, Vecchio?”
“Shut up, Louie, or I’ll shove that pickle somewhere the sun don’t shine!”
“You an’ what army, Vecchio?”
“Against you? Who needs an army? That bunch of Girl Scouts over there could
take you out with their sashes tied around their eyes.”
“You an’ me, Vecchio. Now. Outside.”
“Ah, don’t let him get to you, Louis.”
“Stay out of this, Huey. This is between me and Burger Boy there.”
“Detectives - and I use that word temporarily -will you please get quiet?
It’s hard enough to hear anything through this damn speaker as it is. - Your
total is five-fifty. Drive on through, sir.”
“Sorry, Lieu.”
“Yeah, sorry, Lieutenant.”
“Sore-ry, Leftenant Welsh.”
“The one-hundred whatsit days, Benny.”
“Ah, of course. . . you’re really not interested in this at all, are you,
Ray.”
“Not really. Wanna know what I am interested in?”
“Would it involve. . .pickles, Ray?”
“Yeah. I do love to hold your pickle, Benny.”
“And your buns are always so. . .delicious. . . Ray. Not to mention your
special. . . sauce. There will be special sauce, won’t there, Ray?”
“As much as you want, Benny. As much as you want.”
“Oh, Ray!”
“Hey, Lieu!”
“Yes, Detective?”
“Me and Benny are gonna take a break.”