It's The Oil

When someone says to you, “it’s the oil,” it’s not always immediately obvious what exactly they’re talking about. They could be crouched beneath the cracked chassis of a previously sputtering automobile. One that was leaking dark liquid at every turn. A vehicle that endured its owner’s cavalier attitude towards frequent oil changes, believing the act was ceremonial at best – the mechanic’s equivalent of consuming the host. Check the engine, check the oil, but don’t you ignore that eucharist under the hood.

They could be referencing the delectable marination of a well-cooked piece of salmon, watching as none of its skin sticks to the grill. They know there is such a thing as too much oil, soaking the fish past the point of no return. 

They could be referring to the absence of wrinkles in the octogenarian’s face standing before them. It seems an acne-riddled adolescence does have some material benefits, albeit ones that come to pass long after high school graduation. 

They could be discussing the work of Jan van Eyck, striking in visual clarity and religious solemnity. Though anyone with an open search bar knows people were painting with oil for thousands of years before that. Remarkably though, no one thought to paint with vinegar.  

They could be educating you on the particulars of committing insurance fraud during a natural disaster. “Oil in the pan,” or something. How that would work doesn’t have to make sense to you, since you’re not the one going to jail. You’re only listening. 

Or, and most understandably, they could be analyzing the trajectory of an errant bowling ball that somehow delivered a strike on the Brooklyn side. On the subject of bowling, I have much to say. We live in a time where people are working remotely, but some things, like bowling, you can’t do from home. You have to venture out in the world. I’ve heard reports of people trying to juggle multiple gigs at once, but those doing this aren’t working afternoons at a deli and the graveyard shift at a bank. For whatever reason, these fools remain in the same industry, increasing their chances of being found out. When Yogi Berra was in his prime, he opened up a bowling alley with ex-teammate, Phil Rizzuto. Had Berra been playing for the Yanks while trying to also catch for Cleveland, even in an era pre-social media, it never would’ve worked. 

He went bowling instead. You should try it sometime.