Rhino does Munchen

What was I thinking, taking Rhino to Montreal. Our twenty four hour, late summer whirlwind tour gave him a taste for the high life, for foreign climes, for exotic foods served in dishes that were not his job to clean. It gave him a passion for life beyond his responsibilities at the sink. It introduced him to a world beyond stainless steel and dish soap.

Really, its nobody’s fault but my own that when Rhino went AWOL last week, he went to Europe.

Can I really blame him? Truthfully, his job had become so hit or miss. There was so much less dish activity to monitor. Somedays it was a dish desert. And standards had dipped. Rhinos like state of the art equipment and with a disabled dishwasher, standards were on the skids.

I didn’t notice his depression in time to remind Rhino that hope and dirty dishes were just around the corner. How many weeks is it to Thanksgiving anyways? That’s got to be the messiest, most dish dirtying meal on the planet. For Rhino’s sake, I could have offered to do Canadian Thanksgiving this year because its celebrated in October. But I failed to keep Rhino motivated and by the time I noticed his ennui, Rhino no longer thought of himself as a dish supervisor. He was a Rhino in search of a new purpose.

And he went to Munich to find it.

So, what happened in Munich? Is it like Vegas? Is he willing to tell us something or is it that same old story. What happens in Munich, stays in Munich.

Well, under duress, Rhino emailed me six lone photos. I will offer up my rendition of Rhino’s inner dialog because Rhino is the strong silent type.

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Here I am on the open road speeding across Germany. The dishes on this train are all plastic. Nobody has asked me to lift a finger. I am free.

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I knew you’d want me to do something cultural so here I am at Munich’s New Town Hall admiring the Glockenspiel.

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In fact, I climbed up to a dangerous place to get a better view. My tour guide held me out over the precipice and considered what would happen if I was accidently dropped. My tour guide realized he might have to emigrate to Germany if he returned to New Hampshire without me. This is why I look bunchy and out of focus in this shot. I am experiencing a death grip.

But really, death grips are no big deal. I am like James Bond. I would have made a good replacement for Pierce Brosnan. Look at me in these next two shots and see how close I came to kissing my life of dishes away once and for all.

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First I challenge a Boar. Very Black Forest. Very macho. I lived to tell. Then I sit in the jaws of a killer catfish. I know. I know. I am a brave Rhino.

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But after a week’s frollick at Oktoberfest, I realized I was really a country Rhino, and dishes or no dishes. I needed to go home.

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Here’s my pensive moment of truth when I realize I am not a city Rhino but a country one.

Editorial comment: This is all very well and good Rhino BUT you have actually been back in the country for FIVE days as in fifteen meals at Casa Sheehan and you have NOT returned home from your tour guide’s bachelor pad. I am beginning to wonder if there is a cover up going on. Maybe there was a drop at New Town Hall. Maybe you got a more exciting job in Munich as a boar baiter. Maybe you like bachelor life at Ben’s better than life at the farm. Maybe you really aren’t taking the loss of the dishwasher and all the dirty dishes with such eerie calm after all. I am calling you out. Come home Rhino!

I promise to make a mess in the kitchen this very afternoon for you!

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