Wishful Thinking

I had hardly started to read the travel brochure for Turkey when the
genie appeared in a puff of jasmine-scented smoke from deep within its
pages.

"Tsk,tsk?tacky!" I remonstrated.

"I know", countered the genie, "but we have to work by association
these days. When was the last time you saw anyone with an old brass
oil-lamp, much less rubbing the thing?" "Anyway," he continued in a
businesslike tone, "some things don't change, you'll be glad to hear.
Same old three wishes as always, your wish is my command, that sort of
stuff. Much better than the lottery or that millionaire game on
TV!"

"No thanks!" I said firmly and pulled the brochure closer to my
face. The genie contorted himself and sidled under the brochure then
rose until his beak-like nose almost touched mine.

"NO THANKS??" he hissed. "Are you mad? You can have anything you
want - fame, fortune, women, adventure, your enemies trampled under
your feet - and that threefold, and all you can say is 'No thanks'!" I
put down the brochure. This could be a long session.

"Listen" I explained, "I've read the Arabian Nights, you know. Plus
any number of other stories with genies and wishes. And you know what?
It never works out for good. Never. There's always some little thing
the lucky person never thought of. Like the guy who used one of his
wishes to go to the moon."

"Very good wish that one", protested the genie, "novel,
innovative?"

"Yes, but he never thought to wish for a space suit, did he?"

"Um, well, you see we don't always know about that sort of thing.
We're incorp?inporc?we don't have real bodies like you do," he
explained.

"Oh, and then there was the little girl you appeared to. Very nice
girl, most unselfish. She wished that no one in the world would go to
bed hungry that night. And what happened? Nasty but short-lived stomach
bug sweeps the whole developing world. Not quite what she'd had in
mind, huh?"

The genie looked embarrassed at that one.

"Well, I know what you mean," he allowed, "but think about it. Some
people eat more than others - how do we know who's hungry and who's
not? And there might be some people - dieters, say, who'd RATHER be
hungry. Do we stuff them full of food? And multiply that by the global
population and you see the difficulty?"

"Yes," I continued, "and what about the guy who wished that
everything he touched turned to gold - Midas, I think he was called -
and he starved to death surrounded by golden food!" I'd moved on to
weaker moral ground here and the genie knew it.

"Well, that was just thoughtless greed; we still gave him what he'd
asked for, though. Actually I don't remember that one - sounds a bit
Greek to me, and Greeks don't usually like us for some reason. You
see," he continued, beginning to sound like a management consultant
rather than a semi-malevolent spiritual being, "you have to keep in
mind three simple principles when dealing with the three wishes
scenario. We call it S.A.M; specific, attainable, modest. If you
remember those principles and wish accordingly there's every chance
you'll get something worth having - and they never put our successes in
these stories, you'll notice. Now to re-evaluate the aforementioned
learning opportunities?"

"OK, OK, you've made your point. I'm in for the wishes. But I need
to think it through a bit," I conceded. The genie looked relieved; he'd
probably just avoided an unforeseen non-compliance scenario or words to
that effect. I picked up a takeaway menu from my favourite Indian
restaurant and perused it.

"Right, for my first wish I'll have a takeaway consisting of the
following items; papadoms, chicken tikka and prawn puri starters, lamb
jalfrezi and chicken bhuna main course with a mushroom bhaji side dish,
pilau rice, naan and a gulab jaman to finish with." I couldn't possibly
eat this much in one meal, of course, but a good curry always tastes
just as fine out of the fridge the day after, especially if you've not
had to pay for it. The genie pursed his lips and nodded, perhaps
approvingly, or there again perhaps not. But complex projects like
wish-fulfilment should always be given a trial run, I say. Then he
closed his eyes and within perhaps thirty seconds there appeared on the
dining-room table a series of slightly greasy paper bags and
foil-covered trays from which a delicious spicy scent arose. I opened
the bag containing the papadoms and froze in horror.

"Something wrong?" asked the genie.

"Red onions!" I exclaimed, "I forgot to order the red onions!" I
turned to the genie. "Be a good chap and nip back for some red onions,
would you?"

"Do I take it that's the second of your three wishes, O master?" he
asked in a somewhat frosty voice.

"Yeah, whatever. But don't be long!" I waved him away and began to
investigate the foil trays. The red onions and the genie soon appeared.
The whole meal was really excellent. I saw off as much as I could and
put the leftovers in the fridge. Now I had to give serious thought to
my final wish; I decided to write it down first so there was less risk
of misinterpretation; it could be life-changing and I would have no
further wishes with which to countermand anything which got out of
hand.

"Hey, how do you get these things for people?" I asked. "I mean,
like with the curry, do you nip down invisibly and sort of nick the
stuff out of the kitchen when no-one is looking?" It had occurred to me
that maybe the restaurant staff were missing a pile of food, and
although it seemed clever at the time, to oblige a genie to make off
with nearly thirty quid's worth of curry wasn't a nice sort of thing to
do to the helpful and welcoming guys who were trying to make a living
there. The genie reassured me that it was all to do with reproducing
thought patterns and matter transference and way beyond my feeble grasp
of elementary physics but did not constitute theft in any way.

"Good!" I replied. "In that case, here's my third and final wish." I
read out what I had written down on the paper, slowly and meticulously.
The genie turned a curious shade of purple and seemed to be having a
great inner struggle as to what to say or do next.

Finally he spoke forcefully: "You bloody idiot! You could have had
anything ? anything ?"

"Maybe," I agreed, "but I followed your advice. If it works out,
it'll make me very happy ? well, fairly happy. And if it doesn't, I
haven't suffered any great loss or ruined my life."

The genie calmed down and considered this. "I don't know why I keep
coming back to this country," he confided, "you're mad, all completely
mad. Anyway, enjoy your final wish for as long as you can!" He paused,
and looked upwards as if he was seeing something beyond my perception.
"Actually, I believe you will. Yes, I really do believe you will!" And
with a final chuckle, he vanished back into the open page of the
brochure, somewhere between Bodrum and Marmaris.

That was six weeks ago, and so far the third wish has run true.
Every Tuesday evening when I arrive home from work there is the
takeaway curry sitting on the table, steaming gently and filling the
house with its mouth-watering fragrance. I eat half and save the rest
for Wednesday, and as yet it's not made me ill (unless you count the
week when there was a touch too much chilli in the jalfrezi and I got
the runs). Neither have any bills come my way, though I still go down
to the restaurant on Saturday and buy myself another meal - fair's
fair. I reckon that with the money I'll have saved by wishing for the
Tuesday curries I could soon afford that holiday in Turkey. And who
knows, when I'm there I might just buy myself an old oil lamp