Murray's Downfall
Jack is sure that something strange is going on with Murray...
It started subtly enough. So subtle that Jack didn’t even take note at first. He was sitting in his regular booth at Murray’s one night, catching a late dinner. Knowing better than to order anything, he had just waved T away when he came with his pencil poised over a little notebook. It was unlikely he was going to get his request anyway. T liked to experiment nearly as much as the other tenants in Jack’s building only his experiments were of the culinary variety. Jack was guinea pig number one. But when T came to the table and brandished the dish with a flourish, even Jack was surprised. It was obviously Asian. The deep fried chicken was smothered in orange sauce and bedded with rice. But over the top of the dish was a bird’s nest of fried noodles that looked like they’d been dyed with blue food coloring. They coursed through the dish in a way that was reminiscent of chaotic spider web or maybe lightening.
Jack was working up the courage to ask when T said, “Emperor’s Chicken.”
Jack picked up his fork and used it to nudge some of the pale blue noodles out of the way. “Isn’t it supposed to be Empress Chicken?”
T bowed his head slightly with an unreadable hint of something in his eye. “Perhaps.”
“And what’s with the blue noodles?”
“They are there to provide…zap,” he said before returning to the kitchen.
* * *
“Sam!!!”
“Sorry!”
The chorus rang out through the hallways like the chimes of Big Ben. Right on schedule the pretty blonde physics major had blown the fuses again. The Blackhawks had just been skating furiously toward the goal when the TV had winked out. Jack groaned and grabbed the flashlight he now religiously kept at the door. “If the Blackhawks score while the power’s out I am docking your security deposit!” he called as he trudged out into the hallway.
“Sorry, Mr. O’Neill,” she yelled back.
The basement of the building was a nest of hazards on the best of days, but Jack wanted to get the fuses changed as quickly as possible so he was moving faster than he should have been. He saw the dark face with closed eyes in his beam of light a split second before he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Instinct took over and he ducked just in time to feel the air whoosh over his head.
“T!” he yelled, his knee having given out and plunging him to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“O’Neill! I am sorry.” A heavy hand closed on his arm and helped pull him to his feet. “I did not realize you were down here.”
Jack shined the flashlight up in his friend’s face. “The power went out. Of course I was going to be down here.”
T glanced up as if he were just noticing that the basement was plunged in darkness. “I am sorry. I did not realize.”
“How did you not notice the suddenly, blinding lack of light?”
“Perhaps because my eyes were closed, O’Neill.”
Jack decided not to ask. As a building manager, he had learned that sometimes it was just better that way. Instead he turned away to fumble for the fuse box. In a few minutes he had the obliterated fuses replaced and the lights in the basement snapped on. Jack closed the box and turned to head up the stairs only to find T standing on the mats with a three foot long staff in his hand. T had long ago asked for permission to use the basement to practice his Tae Kwon Do so it wasn’t unusual to find him there, but Jack wasn’t used to finding him armed.
“You taking up some new form of martial arts?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
T looked rather uncomfortable, standing rigidly in the middle of the mats. More rigidly than usual.
Jack waved at the staff. “So that’s what nearly took off my head?”
“Indeed.”
“Nice.”
“I am sorry, O’Neill.”
“Yeah, well, next time just be careful, okay?”
T bowed respectfully and Jack hurried away to catch the rest of the match. He vaguely noticed that there was a red kickball suspended from the ceiling that nearly thwacked him in the forehead as he turned to go, but his mind was on hockey.
* * *
It all fell into place a week or so later. Jack had noticed that T wasn’t around as much as usual. Jack hadn’t seen him in the basement since the fuse box incident and he’d noticed that the normally steady stream of women that tended to come and go from T’s apartment had slowed to a trickle. But he figured that T was busy or maybe just off his game.
At least until the night that Daniel Jackson complained that their sink was backed up.
Jack went up to the third floor thinking that perhaps if the geniuses remembered to do their dishes on occasion, they wouldn’t have problems with their sink. He knocked on the door, toolbox in hand and was ushered inside where he promptly dropped the toolbox. There, sitting on the couch, frenetically gyrating with a game controller in his hand, was T.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Jack said, rushing over and grabbing the controller from him. “What are you doing?” he yelled at McKay who was sitting next to T with his own controller in hand.
“Uh, playing Star Wars Episode III Revenge of the Sith,” Rodney said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, no,” Jack said, pointing at him with the controller accusingly. “You are not allowed to geekify him! There are more than enough geeks in this building already.”
Daniel crossed his arms and grinned at him. “Too late,” he sing-songed.
“The prequels were not as addictive as the original trilogy, however, I am finding this game to be quite stimulating,” T said as if to hammer home the point.
Jack was speechless.
“T loves Star Wars. We’re moving on to Star Trek this weekend and after that, we might just try to get him hooked on Wormhole X-treme,” McKay said with a smug grin on his face.
Jack had to will his jaw to shut. Geekdom was like a disease and it was spreading. It was infecting everyone in his building. If even T - the diner owning, gourmet cooking, martial arts instructor -- wasn’t immune then they were all doomed.
Jack shook his head to clear that thought, picked up his toolbox, and escaped out into the hallway.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to fix the sink?” Daniel called after him.
It started subtly enough. So subtle that Jack didn’t even take note at first. He was sitting in his regular booth at Murray’s one night, catching a late dinner. Knowing better than to order anything, he had just waved T away when he came with his pencil poised over a little notebook. It was unlikely he was going to get his request anyway. T liked to experiment nearly as much as the other tenants in Jack’s building only his experiments were of the culinary variety. Jack was guinea pig number one. But when T came to the table and brandished the dish with a flourish, even Jack was surprised. It was obviously Asian. The deep fried chicken was smothered in orange sauce and bedded with rice. But over the top of the dish was a bird’s nest of fried noodles that looked like they’d been dyed with blue food coloring. They coursed through the dish in a way that was reminiscent of chaotic spider web or maybe lightening.
Jack was working up the courage to ask when T said, “Emperor’s Chicken.”
Jack picked up his fork and used it to nudge some of the pale blue noodles out of the way. “Isn’t it supposed to be Empress Chicken?”
T bowed his head slightly with an unreadable hint of something in his eye. “Perhaps.”
“And what’s with the blue noodles?”
“They are there to provide…zap,” he said before returning to the kitchen.
* * *
“Sam!!!”
“Sorry!”
The chorus rang out through the hallways like the chimes of Big Ben. Right on schedule the pretty blonde physics major had blown the fuses again. The Blackhawks had just been skating furiously toward the goal when the TV had winked out. Jack groaned and grabbed the flashlight he now religiously kept at the door. “If the Blackhawks score while the power’s out I am docking your security deposit!” he called as he trudged out into the hallway.
“Sorry, Mr. O’Neill,” she yelled back.
The basement of the building was a nest of hazards on the best of days, but Jack wanted to get the fuses changed as quickly as possible so he was moving faster than he should have been. He saw the dark face with closed eyes in his beam of light a split second before he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Instinct took over and he ducked just in time to feel the air whoosh over his head.
“T!” he yelled, his knee having given out and plunging him to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“O’Neill! I am sorry.” A heavy hand closed on his arm and helped pull him to his feet. “I did not realize you were down here.”
Jack shined the flashlight up in his friend’s face. “The power went out. Of course I was going to be down here.”
T glanced up as if he were just noticing that the basement was plunged in darkness. “I am sorry. I did not realize.”
“How did you not notice the suddenly, blinding lack of light?”
“Perhaps because my eyes were closed, O’Neill.”
Jack decided not to ask. As a building manager, he had learned that sometimes it was just better that way. Instead he turned away to fumble for the fuse box. In a few minutes he had the obliterated fuses replaced and the lights in the basement snapped on. Jack closed the box and turned to head up the stairs only to find T standing on the mats with a three foot long staff in his hand. T had long ago asked for permission to use the basement to practice his Tae Kwon Do so it wasn’t unusual to find him there, but Jack wasn’t used to finding him armed.
“You taking up some new form of martial arts?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
T looked rather uncomfortable, standing rigidly in the middle of the mats. More rigidly than usual.
Jack waved at the staff. “So that’s what nearly took off my head?”
“Indeed.”
“Nice.”
“I am sorry, O’Neill.”
“Yeah, well, next time just be careful, okay?”
T bowed respectfully and Jack hurried away to catch the rest of the match. He vaguely noticed that there was a red kickball suspended from the ceiling that nearly thwacked him in the forehead as he turned to go, but his mind was on hockey.
* * *
It all fell into place a week or so later. Jack had noticed that T wasn’t around as much as usual. Jack hadn’t seen him in the basement since the fuse box incident and he’d noticed that the normally steady stream of women that tended to come and go from T’s apartment had slowed to a trickle. But he figured that T was busy or maybe just off his game.
At least until the night that Daniel Jackson complained that their sink was backed up.
Jack went up to the third floor thinking that perhaps if the geniuses remembered to do their dishes on occasion, they wouldn’t have problems with their sink. He knocked on the door, toolbox in hand and was ushered inside where he promptly dropped the toolbox. There, sitting on the couch, frenetically gyrating with a game controller in his hand, was T.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Jack said, rushing over and grabbing the controller from him. “What are you doing?” he yelled at McKay who was sitting next to T with his own controller in hand.
“Uh, playing Star Wars Episode III Revenge of the Sith,” Rodney said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, no,” Jack said, pointing at him with the controller accusingly. “You are not allowed to geekify him! There are more than enough geeks in this building already.”
Daniel crossed his arms and grinned at him. “Too late,” he sing-songed.
“The prequels were not as addictive as the original trilogy, however, I am finding this game to be quite stimulating,” T said as if to hammer home the point.
Jack was speechless.
“T loves Star Wars. We’re moving on to Star Trek this weekend and after that, we might just try to get him hooked on Wormhole X-treme,” McKay said with a smug grin on his face.
Jack had to will his jaw to shut. Geekdom was like a disease and it was spreading. It was infecting everyone in his building. If even T - the diner owning, gourmet cooking, martial arts instructor -- wasn’t immune then they were all doomed.
Jack shook his head to clear that thought, picked up his toolbox, and escaped out into the hallway.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to fix the sink?” Daniel called after him.