For some unknown reason, there's a photograph of a turkey on the back of the entry door in the ladies room in our Walnut Creek office.

It's been there for quite a while, a plump, white-plumed turkey. A tom, I believe, which is a guy turkey, which seems a bit creepy in a women's restroom. Maybe he's a "peeping tom."

It appears to be an image cut out of a magazine and slipped into the plastic sleeve that's long been attached to the door. The original purpose of that plastic sleeve is unclear, unless it was perhaps for a reminder to turn out the lights or something. It was surely not intended for something so fowl.

When the turkey first appeared several months ago, I assumed someone had put it there for Thanksgiving just for fun, and I expected it might one day disappear and be replaced with a snowman (or snowlady) as the holidays wore on, maybe transitioning into a Valentine image or spring flowers. But no. The turkey remains.

I usually just glare at the turkey as I exit the restroom and go on with my day, but recently my natural reporter's curiosity took over, and I asked around about its origin and/or significance. Sadly, many of my fellow trained observers hadn't even noticed it. Hello? Elephant in the living room? Turkey in the lavatory? Others who have seen the bird had long ago resigned themselves to its presence and written it off as one of the eternal mysteries of the universe. A poultry paradox, if you will.


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So, with little support, I made the unilateral decision to replace the turkey with something else, and the only photo close at hand was from a copy of our Mother's Day issue with a shot of a lovely mom, smiling pleasantly and brandishing a meat cleaver. This seemed apropos to keep that creepy turkey in line, so I slipped it in, over the top of the turkey photo. The new photo is not as big as the turkey photo, however, so the bird's tasty lower regions and craggy feet protrude beneath the woman's torso, creating the disturbing effect of a half woman/half turkey mutant. One wonders what future generations of restroom goers will think of this. We'll see how long before anyone even notices.

Summer fever

Yes, this was a daring act of mischief, but I've been feeling a little rambunctious lately now that it's almost summer. Last year, the Bay Area pretty much skipped that season, and we had more summer this past winter with a super warm January. For a while I thought the planet was overheating as depicted in that "Twilight Zone" where the Earth is slowly moving toward the sun and everyone's dying of thirst, which turns out to be merely a feverish dream of the main character and the Earth is actually moving away from the sun and everybody's freezing to death. I always have to get some iced tea and put on a parka after that episode.

My point is, I think, that I'm ready for summer weather, eager to turn on the A/C in the car even though it'll smell funny since it's been off for so long, ready to experiment with a new chewing-gum flavor -- something fruity and tropical, like piña colada or peach-mango. Now if only the A/C could smell like that.

It's also time to get a new summer purse -- compact, but big enough to stow my sunglasses when I'm on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, because if you put your glasses in the "ingenious pouches" on the back of the seat in front of you, you risk forgetting them after the adventure of the Temple of Doom, and then you have to go find the Temple of the Lost and Found.

The new purse should also have a nice long strap, allowing for hands-free eating of bigger-than-your-head caramel apples on Main Street and the Dole Pineapple frozen soft-serve "whips" at that little stand by the Enchanted Tiki Room. The stand is strategically located so there's absolutely no shade within fainting distance, which means you are at your utmost hottest, thirstiest point in your entire life -- like the poor woman in her Rod Serling-induced delirium -- and you end up buying six whips to rub all over your sweaty body, but then you go ahead and eat them because they're just so sweet and tasty. Ah, good times.

Clearly, I am ready for summer. And ready, very ready, for vacation. If I don't get one soon, I'll go into a work-induced delirium and keep writing about things like evil restroom turkeys. And no one wants that.