Dr. Meat
I was looking for cold cuts on Canada Day, but the shops were closed and I was headed home when a car backfired and my vision strayed to a mini mall across the street, a black sign on white saying: DR. MEAT.
Inside I saw no meat, just cans and dried goods on plywood shelves, the prices in red felt- saltine crackers, white sugar, jam, two pairs of shoes and scraps of fabric, not much more, part bunker, part junk store.
Dr. Meat was all in blue.
I said, "I'm looking for sandwich meat but it looks like you might not have that", he said "I don't understand what you're saying, what are you driving at?"
I said, "I'm looking for sandwich meat but it looks like you might not have that", he said, "I don't understand what you're saying, what are you driving at?"
I said, "Some kind of meat to put on sandwiches, like roast beef or salami".
"Salami!", he cried, "Yes, yes, salami!"
And suddenly he was fawning, lovingly, longingly looking at a half salami in his cooler next to a cluster of plastic grapes.
"You must say how much you want. You must say thick or thin. But first, listen - do you believe that back in Iraq I was a doctor of medicine?"
He took an oath to serve the sick, but here he stands instead.
It's easier to serve things that are already dead.
For years he endured, he cured Sunni, Shia and Kurd.
He had a practice in Tikrit. Now he's Dr. Meat.
He took out rubber gloves and snapped them on his hands.
I thought, "Great, he's going to check my prostate", but he said, "I also have sausage from Sudan, from Tunisia, and Lebabanon."
"Lebabanon?", I said. "Yes, ofcourse, but no pig, no pork, no ham- I am a religious man! Here it is- done. 182 grams".
I couldn't bring myself to say it; "Dr. Meat, you didn't even weigh it."
Then he leaned in like he was confiding in a lifelong pal: "This one's on me. And all the meat's Halal".
He had healed his country in the first Gulf War.
He'd seen more blood than an abbatoir floor.
A cousin in Calgary sponsored the doctor, got him out of Iraq and the visa fast tracked.
But reality of life in his adopted nation, deflated the elation and expectation.
His credentials could not be transferred was the word from the Canadian medical association.
I backed out slowly, my sliced salami wrapped neatly in Styrofoam and plastic wrap- profuse thank yous and a promise to return.
He said, "Business is slow-it's as though you people are always on vacation".
I said, "Don't worry, Dr. Meat. It'll surely pick up- you run a fine operation."
He took an oath to serve the sick, but here he stands instead.
It's easier to serve things that are already dead.
For years he endured, he cured Sunni, Shia and Kurd.
He had a practice in Tikrit.
Now he's Dr. Meat.
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