Three Wishes

I was at work, shuffling through a file cabinet, desperately seeking Post-It notes, when  I stumbled upon something very strange indeed…

A MAGIC LAMP!

Well, at least I thought it had potential to be magic lamp.  It was shiny and gold and encrusted with jewels on top.  The sides looked well-primed for rubbing.  Naturally, I gave it a shot.  I rubbed the heck out of that lamp.  And…

Nothing.  No puff of smoke, no magic genie.

I’ll admit, I was disappointed.  I mean, I didn’t necessarily expect a genie to pop out of the lamp, but it would have been nice.  Who rubs a potentially magical lamp without some hope of possibly seeing a  genie?  No one, that’s who.  Still, I felt like a fool.  Even the lamp was mocking me.  I realize that sounds insane, but if ever it was possible for a lamp to look smug, well, this one did.

Sighing heavily, I went to put the lamp back in the file cabinet, but noticed it was very warm to the touch, almost too hot to hold comfortably, like a cup of boiling hot coffee without a sleeve.  As the lamp’s temperature increased rapidly, holding it in my fragile hand became unbearable.  I set the lamp on the floor.  It started to sputter and shake.  Something was definitely happening.

With a mighty belch of purple fog and glitter, a genie shot forth from the lamp, in all his magical splendor.  I ooh’d and ahh’d accordingly.  The genie rolled his eyes, took a deep, weary breath and spoke in a voice that was simultaneously booming and put-upon.

“UGH.  GREETINGS, MORTAL.  THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WAKING ME UP, AND I MEAN THAT WITH ABSOLUTELY NO SARCASM AT ALL. NO, REALLY.  THAT THOUSAND YEAR NAP WASN’T EVEN A LITTLE BIT RELAXING.  I WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE BOTHERED WITH THE NEEDS AND WANTS OF A STRANGER.  TRULY.”

Hmm.  This genie was kind of an a-hole.

“SO,” he said, “YOU KNOW THE DRILL, I ASSUME?  THREE WISHES.  WHADDYA WANT?”

“Magic carpet ride!” I blurted out, mindlessly.

“PARDON?” asked the genie, clearly confused.

“Magic carpet ride!” I shouted again.

“EXPLAIN, PLEASE,” the genie insisted, “SCREAMING THE WORDS ‘MAGIC CARPET RIDE’ MEANS NOTHING TO ME.”

I knew I was making little to no sense to this creature.  He had obviously never seen Disney’s Aladdin.

“I want to fly through the night sky on a magic carpet with the love of my life!” I explained, “And if the karaoke version of ‘A Whole New World’ could play so that we could sing along while we soar through the air, that would be good too.  Unless that counts as a second wish.  Does it?”

“NO.  IT’S COOL,” the genie said, pulling out a notepad and jotting down my first wish, “ I CAN LUMP ALL OF THAT INTO ONE WISH.”

“Fantastic!” I exclaimed, with a joyous clapping of hands.

“OK,” the genie said, with an exaggerated yawn “WHAT NEXT?  I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY.”

“I want to be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, with absolutely no negative consequences, health-wise or appearance-wise.”

The genie raised one eyebrow.

“SERIOUSLY?” he inquired, “FOOD IS THAT IMPORTANT TO YOU?”

“Yessir,” I insisted, “Yes. It is.”

“WHAT ABOUT WEALTH?” he asked, “OR EXTREME POWER?”

I considered these possibilities for a moment.

“Nope,” I said, “I really enjoy potato chips, sir.  And candy.  Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, to be specific.”

“HA HA HA.  WELL, I SUPPOSE I SHOULDN’T BE SURPRISED,” he declared in a mocking tone, “YOU DO LIVE IN THE  WESTERN WORLD, AFTER ALL…”

I could feel my cheeks growing warm.  I wanted to defend my choice to the genie, as he begrudgingly scribbled down my “silly” second wish on his notepad, but I couldn’t quite think of the right words to say.  Man, was this guy a Judgy Judas or what?

“ALRIGHT, WEIRDO,” the genie announced, “THIRD AND FINAL WISH!”

“OK.  Brace yourself, dude,” I said, “This one is very specific.”

The genie crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“I’M LISTENING.”

I looked the genie directly in his piercing, judgmental green eyes.

“I want to be able to sing exactly like Paul Robeson.”

The genie seemed to be genuinely thrown for a loop.  An uncomfortably long silence followed before he spoke again.

“YOU MEAN THE QUINTESSENTIAL ‘OL’ MAN RIVER’ GUY FROM THE CLASSIC MUSICAL SHOWBOAT?” he asked.

Oh em gee.  He actually knew who I was talking about!  How was this genie familiar with Showboat and not Disney’s Aladdin?

“Yes!” I sputtered frantically, “Exactly!  I want to be able to sing like Paul Robeson.  Not all the time, mind you, but just to be able to channel his exact voice at will.  I’m an actress and a singer, see, and I go on lots of auditions.  And I think it would just be hilarious if I, this blonde-haired, blue-eyed female, walked into an audition room, introduced myself in my slightly high-pitched speaking voice, and proceeded to sing ‘Ol’ Man River’ in Paul Robeson’s perfect bass baritone.  It would be stunning!  Wouldn’t that be just so amazing, genie?  Wouldn’t it?”

It was embarrassing, almost, how much I sought the approval of this hypercritical being.  The rational side of me knew it was pointless to have this genie affirm my choice of wishes, but I so very desperately wanted him to like one, just one, of my choices.  I knew this was my last chance.

As he contemplated my final request, the slightest hint of a smile played on the genie’s lips.

“YES,” he proclaimed, to my utter shock and delight, “YES.  THAT WOULD BE PRETTY FREAKING AWESOME.”

He chuckled to himself as he wrote my third wish down in his notepad.  I could actually feel my shrunken Grinchy heart grow about three sizes with the realization that the genie was coming around to me.  It felt good to be understood, if not liked, necessarily.   I would be sad to see him go, almost.

“Well…that’s it, I guess?” I asked.

“YEP.  WE’RE ALL FINISHED HERE,” the genie said, scratching out a few more notes in his pad before shoving it in the pocket of his puffy pants.

“Excellent,” I said, beaming, “So…when will my wishes be coming true??”  I looked up at the genie, expectantly.

For the first time in our odd encounter, the genie seemed to be moderately uncomfortable.

“OH DEAR,” he muttered, eyes downcast, “I FEAR THERE HAS BEEN A BIT OF A MISUNDERSTANDING.”

“What?” I inquired.

“I SHALL EXPLAIN.  YOU SEE, I AM A SURVEY GENIE.”

“A survey genie?”

“YES.  A SURVEY GENIE.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.  My voice was shaking.

“WELL, AS A SURVEY GENIE, MY POWERS ARE LIMITED.  AS IN, I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE ANY.”

I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just stood there, stunned.  The genie sighed.

“I CANNOT GRANT WISHES,” he continued, “ I JUST TAKE DOWN INFORMATION ABOUT PEOPLES’ WANTS AND DESIRES AND REPORT THE DATA TO MY SUPERIORS.”

I was reeling.  Here I was, smack dab in the middle of what I thought was a modern-day miracle that was actually turning out to be the equivalent of a semi-mystical telemarketing experience.

“What is the point of that?” I asked, borderline maniacal.  The genie shrugged sheepishly.

“THE MAGICAL GENIES JUST LIKE TO HAVE AN IDEA OF WHAT TO EXPECT FROM PEOPLE.  THEY LIKE TO BE PREPARED.”

“I see,” I squeaked out.  I could feel a lump starting to form in the back of my throat.  Tears would be coming soon.  The genie could sense my sadness.

“LOOK, MORTAL,” he soothed, “IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER, YOU WERE PART OF SOMETHING VERY BIG TODAY.  AFTER I LEAVE HERE, YOUR WISHES WILL BE ENTERED INTO A DATABANK, AND WILL HELP MAGICAL GENIES FULFILL THE DREAMS OF PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD.  THAT’S GOTTA COUNT FOR SOMETHING, RIGHT?”

“Yeah.  I guess.”

Now I was rolling my eyes at him.  He tried his best to ignore my caustic attitude.

“AND, WELL, BETWEEN YOU AND ME,” he continued, “I’VE BEEN DOING THIS SURVEY JOB FOR OVER TEN THOUSAND YEARS NOW.  AND THAT PAUL ROBESON WISH IS SERIOUSLY THE BEST ONE I’VE EVER HEARD.”

At this, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Wow.  Do ya mean it?”

“I SURE DO, MORTAL,” he said, giving me a hearty pat on the back, “I SURE DO.”

I could sense that schmaltziness was uncharacteristic for the survey genie, and he seemed actually alarmed that he had allowed himself even this one moment of sentimentality.  He cleared his throat and snapped to attention, pulling a small slip of paper out of his pocket.

“THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN THIS GENIE SURVEY,” he stated.  His tone was almost mechanical, which I suppose shouldn’t have been surprising, considering that he’d been giving this spiel for over ten thousand years.

“AS A TOKEN OF OUR APPRECIATION, PLEASE ACCEPT THIS COUPON FOR 50% OFF YOUR NEXT MEAL AT CHIPOTLE.”

I took the Chipotle coupon from the survey genie’s awkwardly oversized hand.  With a dramatic flash of light, and a strong whoosh of air, he was gone.

I contemplated the not-so-magical-as-it-turned-out lamp that now sat at my feet, cold and still, like nothing had even happened at all.  I placed the lamp back in the file cabinet and, since it was now lunchtime, walked across the street to Chipotle to claim my discount burrito.

After all, 50% Chipotle coupons are rather rare and exciting.