This is part of a series relating the adventures of Fraser and Thatcher on
a training tour in Disney World. Since all kinds of brand names and
corporations are mentioned through the course of this epic, let me make it
clear I own none of them, and I have used them purely for the purposes of
free entertainment, and will make no personal gain from this. The due
South characters belong to Alliance, not me. However, all of the other
characters are mine, so I get to make them do just what I want.  

Disney World belongs to some huge publicly owned conglomerate, not me. I
hope they don't sue me for some of the liberties I take in this series. I
acknowledge the role of Disney in the American Culture, and recognize it
as a national resource. As far as I know, there is no Gorilla Compound
Apartment complex at Disney World, and if there is, I am sure it doesn't
look like the one I invented.  

I also acknowledge that management training seminars are a foundation of
the international economy, but do not need to be taken as seriously as
Disney. 

The Meyers-Briggs Type Indicators (MBTI) and similar personality type
categorization schemes are used without permission of the copyright
holders, however, I have tried to not abuse the concept too much. 

RATING: G  

Comments should be directed to tomato_3@excite.com 

 NOTE: Remember that this series is primarily a romance. . . .	

 

Adventures in Mouseland - Groceries, etc. 

Sunday - Day 0 - by Pin 

 

Having escaped the registration procedure largely unscathed, but very
disconcerted, the two worthy Mounties headed to the next stop on their
adventure - the grocery store.	

In his role as navigator, Fraser now guided Meg to the large, massively
outfitted 24-hour grocery store only 2 miles from the Gorilla Compound.
Upon entering, they had to first decide who should have the shopping cart
and who should carry the list. Opting for their already familiar roles,
Meg took the former and Ben handled the latter. Now, however, Fraser came
into his own. While the navigation from the airport to the apartment had
been inordinately simple, making their way through the grocery store was
guaranteed to be more of a test of his skills.	

Meg's list had covered the basics: dish washing detergent, laundry
detergent, dryer sheets, paper towels, margarine, juice, milk, bread,
eggs, fruit, popcorn, twinkies, suntan lotion, etc. It did, however, lack
for some specificity. 

"Uh . . . ." Fraser was not going to be the first to follow the 'name
rule' - with any luck they might be able to avoid it for some time. He
did, however, have some questions. Clearing his throat before continuing
he asked, 

"Uh, if I may ask, what do you eat?" Meg looked nonplused for a moment.
She'd been looking around the store, trying to figure out how the layout
was different from the one she typically went to in Chicago. She was
caught off guard a little by his question. Food was such a personal issue,
so revealing of the inner person. She couldn't very well just say ~ I live
off of cheese, crackers, pickles, carry out and convenience foods. ~
Instead, she just stopped and stared at him. 

Recognizing a possible issue, Fraser chose to try to more effectively
scope out the territory through an organized search. 

"Perhaps it would help if we decided what meals we are likely to eat - "
now he paused, trying to decided whether it was safer to say that they
would be 'eating in', definitely not 'eating at home.' 

"To be eating at the apartment. Most likely we can count on breakfast for
the next several days and dinner tonight. Perhaps we should just go for
the basics." And with that thought he headed off, Meg following with the
cart. He tried as hard he could to sound matter-of-fact about the whole
situation, however even discussing the idea of having breakfast with Meg
Thatcher over the next several days was, well, disturbing to Fraser's
equanimity. 

Over the next half hour, Fraser navigated the obstacle course of the
grocery store as he collected what seemed like a reasonable combination of
foods for the specified meals. Meg participated in this effort, but
largely by way of indicating preferences. Fraser was beginning to form a
hypothesis regarding her behavior. On the basis of his suspicions, he
began to just make selections and see what she said. Her eyes grew huge at
the combination of fruits and vegetables he put in the cart. She didn't
even recognize some of them. 

They did have one minor crisis - the suntan lotion selection. They spent
easily 10 minutes standing in front of a six foot by six foot tower of
lotions, sprays, oils, and salves, trying to figure out what they would
need. Here Fraser was at a loss - he had never used any product of this
type, with the possible exception of seal fat to protect his skin from the
biting wind of the North. As far as he could recall, he'd never been
sunburned. Frostbite, windburn, yes, but not sunburn. In this area, Meg
had eminent domain. 

"I think we need to be pretty careful, since neither of us has any kind of
sun exposure on the order of what we will get here." Turning to look at
Fraser, she cast a clinical eye over his visage, trying to gauge whether
he could get away with SPF 30, or if SPF 45 should be the first step. 

"With your fair skin and blue eyes, you'll be more vulnerable. I think you
are going to have to go with the heavy duty lotions for a start." Using
selection criteria of which he was totally ignorant, Meg picked out three
different products and tossed them into the cart. Eventually they were
able to check out and head 'home.' 

Arriving back at the apartment, they proceeded to unpack and stow the
various items. Meg had been more than a little unnerved by the shopping
trip. She had been mentally unprepared for the need to express a
preference for food. While she loved to eat, she hated to cook, primarily
because she was not very good at it. Over the years, she had learned to
make probably two dozen things that she really liked - garlic bread,
chocolate pudding, tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, rice krispies
treats. Beyond those, she pretty much lived on food made by strangers.	

Fraser, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable in parts of the store
that she never even entered - like the meat section. She had tried to cook
a beef roast for some friends, once. They'd ended up eating pizza that
night. He had picked some hunk of fish to make for dinner tonight. Fish
was far too exotic for Meg to even contemplate preparing. She did,
however, need to regain some measure of control of the situation,
otherwise she suspected all would be lost. 

"I'll review the material in the information packets while you do . . . .
whatever you are going to do with all of that food." The kitchen had a
fairly large counter that acted as a serving space and pass through for
the dining area. Meg sat there, spreading out the contents of the
information packets, reading to him from various parts. For his part, Ben
sliced and diced his way through a pile of tomatoes, onions, green
peppers, garlic and mushrooms.	

At the end of an hour, Ben had prepared dinner while Meg had reviewed and
summarized the materials, identifying those action items requiring their
attention that evening. They had discussed several of the pieces of
information and agreed on a course of action. It had all been very
efficient and relaxed, and in some small way, it scared them both. It had
been too easy, too comfortable. 

Dinner continued in this vein. Meg was truly amazed at what Fraser had
been able to create while she sat there reading the material. She had been
aware that he'd been doing things, washing and cutting things. She'd set
the table when he'd told her dinner was almost ready, but she hadn't known
what to expect when they sat down. Little aluminum foil bundles on plates,
surrounded by rice, with a tossed salad. Mystified, she opened the bundle
to discover poached fish with julienne vegetables. It looked better than
what she'd had in most French restaurants. It also tasted delicious. He
seemed pleased at her reaction. 

"Okay, I give. How did you learn to cook like this? I mean, as far as I
can tell, you've spent most of your life in the Territories. Don't tell me
your grandmother was a gourmet cook, too?" She said this with a smile, but
she was very interested. It was another mystery of the many that seemed to
surround this man. 

Fraser leaned back, surprised at her question, since what he'd prepared
wasn't all that difficult or unusual. It was actually just a variation on
camp fare. He smiled at the thought, recalling his grandmother's cooking
skills. 

"Far from it. My Grandmother was known throughout the territories as being
one of the worst cooks in the country. On the rare occasions when she
invited people over to the house, they always insisted on making it a
'potluck' dinner, and then avoided anything that could have been found in
a pot in our kitchen. Fortunately, my grandparents' library included
several cookbooks. Somehow among the 'Basque Cookery for Beginners', 'The
Joy of Patagonian Cooking', 'The Sunset Magazine of Holiday Appetizers',
and the two-volume set by Escoffier, I taught myself to cook. It was a
matter of survival, you might say." He laughed at this, recalling some of
his experiments. Ultimately, friends from town were willing to come to the
Fraser's for dinner, as long as 14 year old Ben was cooking.  

"How old were you when you decided to teach yourself how to cook?" Meg was
curious. She also was intrigued, since she had rarely seem Fraser look
this relaxed around her, let alone laugh. 

"Oh, probably about eight. I recall that I was tall enough to light the
fire in the wood stove. My Grandmother was a strong proponent of self
sufficiency, so she viewed my efforts as part of this process. I came to
enjoy cooking, its just that I don't find it particularly relevant when
it's just for myself." He discretely studied her response to this
statement, curious to see if his hypothesis would hold. Meg had listened
closely to his tale, actually nodding at parts. 

"I know what you mean. I didn't have a Grandmother who couldn't cook; it
was my mother. She didn't think cooking was important. She viewed it as a
sexist plot to keep women enslaved in the kitchen, and so she made a point
of never learning how to cook. When I was growing up we had Gregory, who
was a wonderful cook. Since Mother would never have victimized a woman by
hiring her to cook, she insisted that all of the household help be male."
Meg grimaced at the memory of her Mother's iron will and forbidding
nature. Fraser was tying to grapple with the idea that Meg grew up with
men in service positions. It explained a few things. 

"The little I know I learned from him on the sly. Mother would have been
appalled that I was even interested. Then, when I was out on my own, it
just became too much trouble." Meg said this with surprising candor.  

Ben would never have expected her to be at sufficient ease around him to
give any kind of information on her background. The little he knew of her
came from miscellaneous snippets that she had occasionally dropped over
time. Perhaps she was just tired from the flight and had her guard down
momentarily. He did not expect that type of candor to last, however.  

Noting that they had finished their meal, he reached over to collect her
plate, in preparation for cleaning up. She stopped his hand. He was so
surprised he actually flinched. She noticed. 

"Oh no. Cottage rules when I was growing up were that the ones that didn't
cook clean up. So, I do the dishes. Why don't you look over the
orientation materials." He was used to her directing him to perform all
manner of menial chores (although far fewer than she had at the beginning
of her tenure) that he had automatically figured that this situation would
persist. She looked at him, recognizing the source of his response. 

"Its clear from the course materials that the only way we are going to get
through the next two weeks is to try to redefine our behaviors and work as
a team. I think that means that we have to change some of the tasks we've
typically done." Having explained herself, also extremely unusual, Meg
picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink, from where she
continued talking to Ben. 

"The only thing that I can see that we need to do tonight is the
Meyers-Briggs questionnaire." Fraser, after recovering from this new shock
sat down to prepare for the next day. 

"Have you ever gone through one of these personality categorization
schemes?" He asked her, having looked over the survey form in question. 

"Yes, as part of one of the training courses after I was promoted to
Inspector. How about you?" She was standing at the sink , wearing the 'I
Go Ape For Bananas' apron she'd found in a drawer, looking far more
domestic than she realized or probably would have wanted. 

He was trying very hard not to respond to this image by focusing his
attention on the materials, which he was studying as if his survival might
depend on having them memorized. He knew he was being ridiculous, it
didn't help. Emotionally, he was being drawn to her as if she were a
lodestone and he were a pile of metal shavings. He was totally unprepared
for this experience. He felt as though he should be able to resist the
lure. Part of the problem, of which he was abundantly aware, was that he'd
never lived with a woman. He'd spent all of his adult life on his own. He
was extremely disturbed to discover how easy it was to be with Margaret
Thatcher in this quasi-domestic arrangement. It scared the living
daylights out of him and he knew he didn't scare easily. He could have
sworn he heard his father chuckle, but refused to look around for him.
Instead, he focused on responding to her question. 

"I completed one of the self test forms once, out of curiosity. I've read
about Jung's theory and understand the concept of the four main
personality components. It will be interesting to see what a more
formalized testing approach produces by way of an assessment. As I recall,
you are supposed to complete the full questionnaire in one sitting.
Circumstances and mood can significantly impact the results." So saying,
he got out his number 2 pencil and went at it. 

Meg continued washing the dishes. She actually didn't mind doing the
dishes, and had been sincere in calling forth the 'cottage rules' of her
childhood. It was the only strategy that she could come up with to help
guide her through this situation. She'd had more surprises in the last
five hours than she'd had in weeks which, given that she was Benton
Fraser's nominal supervisor, was saying something. Fundamental to her
surprise was the realization that once again, Fraser had adapted to a new
situation by merely acting as his nature led him. This was a man who did
what was needed, whether he was asked to or not. It always amazed her that
regardless of whether she agreed with his assessment of what the situation
required, he'd proceed as he saw fit and he was correct more often than
not. Sometimes that really pissed her off.  

He'd done the shopping for the two of them, and then made this beautiful
dinner, all as if this was the most normal thing in the world. It had
required that she figure out a functional role for herself in this
situation. Otherwise, he would have done everything, and she would have
felt like a little Canadian princess. It was a point of pride with Meg
that she did her share of the work. She hadn't always had such a sense of
parity in her dealings with others and wondered where this impulse toward
fairness had come from. Deep down, she suspected that exposure to Fraser
and his overdeveloped sense of ethics and fair play was influencing her,
somewhat like being overexposed to x-rays. 

So, she stood at the sink, washing pots and pans, recognizing that her
manicure was being wrecked and not really caring overly much, thinking.
That was the really dangerous part about doing the dishes, you got to be
alone with your thoughts. Among the many truths she was struggling with
was the one that said that being with Fraser in this situation was too
easy.  

She'd lived with a man for a short time after college. It had been a
disaster, primarily because he was a selfish ball of pond scum and she was
not used to having to share anything, particularly her space and her
fingernail polish remover. They had parted fairly abruptly, and she had
never let another man get inside her defenses again. Joining the RCMP had
allowed her to respond to the need to give back to society for having
supported her family in such a lavish way when she was growing up, but
romantic relationships had been less than optimal. She quickly realized
that being young and attractive in a male dominated environment,
particularly a uniformed service, was a double edged sword. While she may
have benefited from somewhat faster promotions, the additional attention
was not always desirable.  

Then she'd been assigned to Chicago and had to deal with Constable Benton
Fraser. Like walking in a large forest full of paths, you don't know how
far you've gone until you turn around a look back. Its all just a little
mysterious, how one can change without realizing it. So, now she found
herself in this situation with Fraser, each trying to cope as best as they
could. They intuitively knew how to meld their activities to get the job
done. She desperately hoped it was just a fluke tonight, but she didn't
think so.  

Turning slightly, she glanced over at him, sitting at the dinner table. He
was concentrating on the survey form, so he didn't notice her watching
him. The light over the table shown down on his head, highlighting the
waves that he tended to comb into a tamed mass, shading his eyes. He was
probably one of the handsomest men that she'd ever seen, and definitely
the nicest, if also more than a little eccentric at times. She had to
resist falling into the trap of seeing him only on the surface. Fraser had
far to many hidden folds in his personality, unexpected capabilities and
surprising gaps to be considered just on the surface.  

But deep down, she knew she was a goner. 

He looked up at her at that point, having finished the form. 

"Done?" She asked. He nodded, and then asked her the same. She indicated
the neatly stacked set of dried dishes and pans. 

"Well, I think I'm ready to turn in, then. Who knows what tomorrow will
bring." She paused before her bedroom door before adding, 

"Good night Ben, see you in the morning." There, she'd done it and
actually made it sound normal. 

"Good night, Meg, sleep well." How did he make that sound as though he'd
hugged her? With a mental shiver, she closed her door. 

They had managed to get through the first day of their trip; only 13 more
to go. However, they hadn't even started the seminar yet. 

 

See, that wasn't too hard. Of course, the true trials still lay ahead,
like white water rapids that are heard right around the bend in the river
. . . .