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by D. Cashon Klein
This is my idea in writing. It is solely
my idea, and it is splendid. Should this idea be implemented beyond
May 27, 2007, by anyone other than myself, it must be deemed
stolen… plagiarized… ripped off. Just because someone
may have the fortitude and wherewithal to actually accomplish this
marvelous idea, does NOT mean they should have the rights to it.
Indeed, I should receive royalties, no less than 50 percent, and
control over all creative decisions should an individual proceed
with my idea, in lieu of me suing their pants off.
I have had a fascination with Lot’s
wife for as long as I can remember. I think it was in Bible School
that I first heard about Lot’s wife, and I’ve been a
feminist ever since. I have a bone to pick with God, or the
misogynistic nomad who made up the story and said it was
God’s idea. They didn’t even give her a name for
gods’ sake!
Lot was a guy that lived in Sodom and
Gomorrah. I guess it was a little like Minneapolis/St.Paul…
you know, the sister cities. Only Sodom and Gomorrah were more like
Las Vegas, but even worse. And God found out about all the bad
stuff going on there, (not like in Vegas, where no one finds out
what you do, at least that’s what the commercials say.) So a
couple of angel guys were dispatched to Lot’s house to ask
him what the heck was going on there. Lot had them in for dinner to
discuss the whole mess, when a bunch of angry men, much like the
mob in Frankenstein, wanted to get the angels. So, get this, Lot
steps out on the porch and offers the mob his two virgin daughters
to do whatever they wanted with if they would just go away and
leave him and the angels alone. (I thought angels were immortal?)
Nice guy, huh? But the mob didn’t want virgins, so the angels
had to intervene and make them blind so they would go away, albeit
in a rather clumsy fashion.
That was bad enough, but it gets even
worse. So on behalf of God, the angels tell Lot he better gather
his wife and daughters and get out of town and not look back. First
thing in the morning, after breakfast, they take off. As they get
to the top of the hill, Lot’s wife suddenly thinks she may
have left the iron on, or something, so she turns around to look
and POOF! She gets turned into a pillar of salt. Now she’s a
giant salt lick for the cattle of the region. The rest of the
family keep moving like nothing has happened. Lot settles himself
and his two daughters into a cave and proceeds to have sex with
them, and then blames them for giving him too much wine. I’m
thinking the wrong person was in a field somewhere being licked by
a cow.
This is why I’ve been thinking about
opening up a place. A place where people can hang around
comfortably and discuss philosophy, politics, world and domestic
issues, while enjoying a cocktail, and some really good snacks,
(without the danger of becoming saltified.)
Lot’s Wife’s Place is that
place. It would be my way to honor her… and make some money
too.
This is my vision. Lot’s
Wife’s Place, or L.W.P., as the cool people would call it,
would be a bistro in a chic, little town, or, the neat section of a
big city, like Little Five Points in Atlanta, or the DUMBO area of
New York. (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.) The interior
would be pretty much all black and white, with huge black and white
tiles on the floor and “Ansel Adamsesque” black and
white panorama photos of the Bonneville Salt Flats on the walls.
The tables would be reminiscent of those in the restaurants of Marx
Brothers movies. They would have floor-length white, linen
tablecloths, with little deco electric lamps in the center of each
one. There would be crystal salt dips on the tables as well, filled
with the finest kosher salt. Seating areas here and there would
have comfortable, over-stuffed loveseats and chairs. These areas
would be set off by diaphanous white material hung from the ceiling
that tiny, hidden fans would cause to billow ever so slightly. Are
you with me so far?
Here’s my favorite part. The
bathrooms would have nameplates identifying them that read
“Sodom” and “Gomorrah.” Sodom would be the
men’s room. The wait staff would wear white peg pants with
white Nehru jackets and white fez hats. This would give them a kind
of “pillar” appearance. The menu would feature things
like Salty Dogs, Margaritas and salt pork sandwiches. There would
be bowls of salt-water taffy along the polished wood bar. As you
leave, there would be a sign above the door that read “Thank
you for coming. Don’t look back.”
Perhaps I’d even have a “Name
Lots Wife” contest for the grand opening. She deserves no
less.
I actually sent this prospectus years ago
to Robert Fulghum, an author who mentions Lot’s wife in one
of his books. I took it as a sign that my idea would, in fact, be
an excellent one because other people have pondered the same thing.
He sent me a letter saying that I should let him know when L.W.P.
opens because he looks forward to coming and ordering a Margarita
with “lots and lots of salt.”
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor
resident.
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