The King of Thailand

When I lived in Thailand you weren't allowed to own a thermometer. I guess they figured that if people could see how hot it really was each day they'd never go out and nothing would get done. Only the King of Thailand was allowed to have a thermometer, but he never told the people what the temperature was. And that's why he was so beloved. I don't think even the Queen knew what the real temperature was. She probably used to complain to the King "It's hotter than blazes today" and he'd probably respond "If you only knew!"

I don't have any thermometers in my apartment. I have two clocks; one on my microwave and a radio/clock in my bedroom. But no thermometers. Wait, I take that back. I've got a sort of thermometer in my bathroom. I got it at the thrift store for a dollar. It's actually a small framed photo called "Winter Idyll." It's a photo of a farmstead in the winter, probably up in New England. All the buildings are painted red and there's a split rail zigzag fence covered in snow in the foreground. On the side of the frame is a small glass thermometer. But since the thermometer has come unglued, it's slid down in its metal bands so the printed markings on each side of it don't make any sense. For instance, right now it reads 40 degrees Fahrenheit. But I'm in shorts and a t-shirt. Not cold at all. If I push the glass thermometer up to where the tip is even with the top of the markings, then it reads 70 degrees. Which is about right. I guess I could glue the thermometer in place, but really who cares what the temp is in the bathroom? I bought it just for the photo, but now it really doesn't fit the decor anymore. I'm moving into a tropical seaside motif, so I'll probably toss it. For historical purposes, and to set the record straight, if it ever needs straightening, the small framed winter photo has "Broadmoor Cleaners. We own our own plant" printed on the bottom of the light brown frame. It gives an address, too: "4116 E. Madison Street. Seattle 2, Wash."    And a phone number, of sorts: EAst 4-1313. I googled the company name with the address, but the place apparently is long gone. Cum ludus Tiberes, as the ancient Romans would say.

In high school real thermometers held a deadly fascination for me. That's because in the science lab we had several expensive thermometers with real silver-colored mercury in them, not that cheap red alcohol that most thermometers use. One of the thermometers cracked one day, and the mercury leaked out onto a metal tray. When no one was looking I tipped the tray to one side and poured the mercury into a glass test tube, which I stoppered and put in my pocket. At home I uncorked it on the cheap oilcloth of our kitchen table and pushed the silver beads around with my fingers, fascinated by how they would break apart and then recombine in a seemingly random sequence. After a while the mercury picked up the dirt and crumbs on the oilcloth, so I herded most of it back into the test tube. Some of it fell on the floor. I left it there. I figured my mom would clean it up. A few days later, when my mercury stash was really getting filthy from me rolling it around all the time, I decided to break another one of the science lab thermometers to get some fresh mercury. I took better care of that second batch -- did you know that mercury is not water soluble? It adheres together and you can make it act like a blob monster by jiggling the container a bit. It rises up, then settles back down again, glittering in a sinister manner. I tried doing the same thing in some rubbing alcohol I took out of our medicine chest, but the mercury dissolved. It gave off stinging fumes, too. That's when I learned from one of our science teachers at high school, who, I think, suspected me of stealing the mercury in the first place, that mercury poisoning is a real bad thing. It's what drove the Mad Hatter mad in Alice in Wonderland. After I found that out I dumped all the mercury I had into the garbage at home, and prayed that I wasn't going to start sounding like Ed Wynn. 

It occurs to me that I should go around and say to complete strangers: "Pardon me, but do you know what the temperature is?" Chances are they will glance at their wristwatch out of habit, then do a double take, and finally tell me to get lost. I'll probably never actually do it, although I certainly would do it if I was with the right set of friends, but nowadays I'm never with the right set of friends, the old friends I had when I worked for the circus. Back then we had some great times playing goofballs wherever we happened to be. One of my pals fell all the way down the grand staircase at Radio City Music Hall in New York on purpose, just for laughs. All those kind of friends are gone, gone, gone. Now I'm stuck with college professors and middle management types and guys getting laid off from their long time jobs. I live in a seniors housing complex full of old ladies who sit in the lobby and suck on their dentures. They're all nice enough, I guess, but they'd never stick french fries up their nose like my old friends would. Just for a laugh. Maybe I'll buy a scientific thermometer on Amazon and crack it open for the mercury, just so I can go a little Mad Hatter crazy. Or I could team up with George Clooney and Brad Pitt to plan a caper to heist the King of Thailand's thermometer . . .