A philosopher, a psychologist, and an extraterrestrial walk into a chocolate bar …. Jass Richards

that Jane had come to a dead end, “they wouldn’t’ve named it Viagra.”

      “I think it’s supposed to sound like Niagara.”

      “But it’s Niagara Falls.” Spike held up her hand, then let her fingers fall over. “Better to have chosen Geyser. ’Course that sounds too much like Geezer.”

      “Better to have avoided that line of imagery altogether and gone with something like Hamburger Helper.”

      Half an hour later, they slowed to pass through a town. Which was to say, they slowed to pass by a Walmart, a Sobeys, a McDonald’s, and a Tim Horton’s.

      “That squeak is getting louder,” Jane observed. She’d noticed it a couple of days prior, and had mentioned it to Spike, but then they’d both forgotten about it.

      “It just needs a bit of WD-40.”

      “There.” Jane pointed, as a Home Hardware came into view.

      Spike pulled into the parking lot.

      A few minutes later, they entered the store, passed the checkout, then wandered around the aisles a bit. Unable to find WD-40, Jane went to the Customer Service counter at the back, while Spike continued to look. No doubt intending to yell FOUND IT! as soon as she found it.

      There were three men standing at the counter, leaning onto it and over it, talking with each other and with Gus, the name-tagged Customer Service staffperson.

      “And he says, ‘Gimme a Phillips’,” one of the men was saying. “And I says, ‘You don’t want a Phillips. What you want is a Robertson.’ And he says, ‘Gimme a Phillips.’ ”

      “Excuse me,” Jane said. She didn’t want to wait while they validated their masculinity. More to the point, she didn’t want to watch.

      They ignored her.

      “He didn’t know the difference? Between a Phillips and a Robertson? What kinda—”

      “All I knows is he keeps asking for a Phillips.” Yeah, yeah, so the guy kept asking for a Phillips.

      “Don’t know why,” the man spoke slowly, taking up as much conversational space as possible. “ ‘Gimme a Phillips,’ he says.”

      “Excuse me,” Jane repeated, a little more loudly, then shifted from one foot to the other. Many animals don’t notice something until it moves.

      A fourth man approached the Customer Service counter. “Hey, Gus, did those ratchet tie-downs come in yet?”

      “Yeah, I got ’em right here.” Gus started to reach under the counter.

      “HELLO,” Jane said more loudly still. “I believe I was here first.” She turned to the newly arrived man, and then to Gus.

      Spike paused as she passed by, WD-40 in hand, took in the situation, then kept walking.

      Gus looked at Jane, but didn’t bother to say Yes?, let alone I’m sorry, what can I do for you? What he did say was, “We thought you were with him.”

      Jane looked at the fourth man. Who had arrived after her. “Why would you think that?” She was genuinely puzzled.

      “Well, you’re not with me,” one of the three men said, “and you’re not with him”—he nodded to the second man—“and you’re sure not with him!” —he nodded to the third man. They all laughed, as if he’d told a good joke. Jane didn’t get it. Was there something funny about a woman not being with a man? Or was the joke about none of the men being with a woman?

      Spike appeared again, a can of pink spray paint in her other hand. She calmly added FOR MEN ONLY to the CUSTOMER SERVICE sign.

      The men gasped and went running—for a tin of turpentine, a gallon of black paint, a 600-pound-capacity-high-pressure-power-sandblaster-that-delivers-a-deep-penetrating-abrasive-at-125-pounds-per-square-inch—something—because the colour pink—well, Spike may as well have sprayed menstrual blood.

      The two of them headed back to the front of the store to the checkout. Leaving the can of pink paint on the counter where, they knew, it would sit … until one of the men found a pair of heavy-duty titanium gloves.

      “Well, look at that,” the cashier said, as she rang up their purchase. “WD-40 is free today.” She grinned at them. “Seeing as you had to deal with the assholes at the back.”

      Spike and Jane grinned back.

      “Oh, and we’re giving these away—today!”

      She picked out a utility knife from the plastic bin on the checkout counter and handed it to Spike. They were clearly marked with a price.

      “Why, thank you!” She put it into her pocket.

      “Anything else I can get for you today?”

      “Might you also be giving away battery chargers? Today?” Jane asked.

      “ ’Fraid not.” She smiled. “But nice try!”

      As soon as they were back on the highway, they heard the squeak again.

      “Oh yeah,” Spike said.

      “We need gas anyway,” Jane said, nodding toward the gas station a few blocks ahead.

      While Spike popped the hood, squirted some WD-40 onto the thing that was making the noise, and filled the tank, Jane went into the conveni­ence store and paid for the gas, two Fudgsicles, and a paper bag full of chocolate bars.

      They moved the car away from the pump, enjoyed their ice cream, then carried on their way, Spike again at the wheel.

      A few minutes later, Spike noticed Jane staring at a chocolate bar.

      Finally, she had to ask.

      Jane replied, “Why would you need re-sealable packaging on a chocolate bar?”

      “So are we really going to Paris?” Jane asked, once she’d proved that re-­sealable packaging on a chocolate bar was indeed unnecessary. “I mean, lunch ends at—well, lunch ends.”

      “And if you still had a job, that would be relevant.”

      Jane gave her a blank look.

      “It’s three o’clock,” Spike explained.

      “Oh. Good point.” And then Jane smiled.

      “You remember that credit union I temped at for a while?” she said a moment later.

      “The one that happened to be a woman-only place of employment?”

      “Yeah. If I could find a full-time job like that. It was so … easy. So comfortable. Everyone was friendly, respectful, efficient. That’s all. That’s everything. There was none of that ‘This is serious’ shit, conveyed by that perpetual male frown of importance. And the hierarchy wasn’t shouted at you, it wasn’t in your face all the time. And there was no pressure to perform, to perform better, always better.”

      She stared out the window for a while.

      “Men have a deadening effect,” she summarized. “On everything. Whenever they’re present, it’s not fun anymore. Or even enjoyable. Let alone easy.”

      Spike didn’t have to express her agreement.

      “We’ll need our passports,” Jane said a moment later, lazily, still not really—

      “Check.” Spike nodded to her well-worn and ever-present knapsack, tossed into the back seat. It contained everything she’d ever need. “You?”

      “No,” she said sadly, “I don’t normally—wait!” She leaned forward, then reached