The Earth Movers

    Any day is bound to be weird, if it begins with a man wearing a chef's hat when he has no intention of cooking. I'd been expecting his visit, ever since I'd picked him out of the Tacoma yellow pages a week beforehand. I was drawn to his company name, “The Carpet Chef”, as well as an attached $10.00 off coupon.”Don't be alarmed” he'd told me on the phone. “The hat's just my trademark. You know, so people will remember me. It's not a fashion statement or anything.”

    I was a 42-year old single mother with a white carpet, which is rarely a good idea under any circumstances, but in my case even less so. I was expecting a gentleman caller from California for erotic hijinks the following afternoon, and didn't want his visit to be tainted by the sight of ground-in peanut butter and old wine spills. Most of the carpet cleaning businesses in the area charged prices that struck me as criminal, so I decided to give the young man's enterprise a try.

    He looked to be about twenty-five, blonde, and cute. “Hi, I'm the Carpet Chef” he said by way of introduction. He smiled at me entreatingly, head cocked slightly. “I'll get right to work” he promised. The Chef hoisted a heavy machine over his shoulder. He carried it into my daughter's bedroom, plugged it into a wall outlet, and began rubbing the nozzle on the floor with practiced strokes. The house vibrated pleasantly, as he finished my daughter's bedroom and headed for the dining room.

    It was hypnotic, and I began to daydream. My new boyfriend was a clown who had just been fired from Cirque du Soleil after falling headfirst onto the stage while taking a bow, and I was excited about his impending visit. I wandered aimlessly into my son's bedroom. It was in its usual disheveled shape, with marbles strewn everywhere. I felt a moment of anger. Why hadn't he cleaned up after himself? Didn't he know the Carpet Chef was coming?

    Then the earthquake hit. I watched the marbles roll in slow motion, and marveled at the velocity of the Chef's powerful machine. Suddenly, I realized that the earth itself was moving, and I ran into the dining room, threw myself onto the floor and began to laugh. My face was directly adjacent to the Chef's right ankle. He backed up slightly to give me space, then stood in the doorway of my daughter's room, swaying back and forth like a metronome. “Whoa” he said, smiling dazedly. “I'm dizzy.” He appeared to be delighted by this.

    The Chef rocked as though he was on the deck of a ship, his right hand firmly clasped around the handle of his instrument. His huge white hat bobbed back and forth in mid-air like a cartoon flag. I continued to laugh hysterically, but then the earthquake abruptly stopped. The undulations of the house continued for a couple of seconds, and everything became very still.

    “That was so cool” the Chef said. His face wore an exhilarated expression. Swelling momentarily with emotion, he gasped, “I'll never forget you! I'll never forget this house!” Then he turned away from me, snapped his machine back on, and resumed his cleaning task.

    They didn't call him the Carpet Chef for nothing. I sank back onto the floor, feeling spent and jubilant. The machine resumed its gentle buzzing, and I glanced around the house. Everything was intact. Nothing had moved except for a head that had been crudely carved from a coconut. It usually rested precariously on top of one of my bookshelves. Now it lay on the dirty living room carpet, staring at me with its usual befuddled, vaguely accusatory expression.

    In a daze, I reached over, scooped up the coconut, and placed it back into its usual spot. The rhythmic whooshing of the machine grew louder, and I could hear the Chef chuckling to himself. “Man, that was a big one” he said. “I certainly wasn't expecting THAT.” He stared at me fondly. “I wasn't either” I assured him. I staggered over to the couch, and then my legs gave way and I collapsed into it.

    My Cirque du Soleil boyfriend was scheduled to arrive in less than twenty-four hours, but I wasn't sure whether I would be sufficiently energized for his visit. We were free to wreak our own form of destruction upon my dwelling. It was bound to be anticlimactic, after the earthquake and the Chef. The best things happen when you're not expecting them, and I knew from experience that expectation often leads to failure. But at least the carpet would be clean.