The Wart Tree

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Added: Thu. Dec 04, 2008 9:14am
Posted in: Gardening

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In the late seventies, early eighties, I owned a restaurant called Weiner King. I know, it's funny, but I did. The restaurant originated in Flemington, NJ. There were several franchises. One in Warminster, PA, one in Morristown, PA, and mine in Whitehouse Station, NJ.

There was a nice lady who came in at least twice a week to eat. One afternoon, she came in during that slump time between the end of the lunch rush and before the dinner crowd began. The girl who worked with me that day, Lauri, was studying biochemistry at Rutgers University. I had a plant on a window sill that was perpendicular to the front counter, on a side wall. At that time, there was no one else in the restaurant. After our hellos and how are yous, she walked toward the plant with her arms extended to touch it.

She had a very pleasant smile on her face. "I've been admiring this plant for quite some time now. It's lovely. What is it?"

"It's a wart tree," I responded. I don't know where the thought even came from, but it was too late. I said it.

"A WART TREE?" Her arms quickly retracted and she backed away.

I had to think fast. "Yes, a wart tree. Lauri goes to Rutgers and is majoring in biochemistry. You know how warts have seeds in them?"

"Yes?"

"Well, someone she knew had a plantar wart and she took the seeds and cultivated them into what you're looking at here."

"You're kidding."

"No," I said. "Ask her."

Lauri gave me a somewhat puzzled look, but she was a good sport and collaborated my story by going into some kind of microbiospeak that neither of us understood.

Well, she bought it, or it seemed like she believed her. The poor woman composed herself, even though she had a perplexed look on her face, and ordered food. I think she asked for it to go.

My guess is that when her husband got home from work that day, she told him about the wart tree. He probably told her there is no such thing, all the while laughing.

At the time, Lauri and I sure did get a kick out of it too, but I guess I shouldn't have done that because I never saw her again. She was either afraid of the tree, warts and all, embarrassed by her gullibility, or too mad at me to ever return.

Working 100 hours a week can do that to you, you know.