A little scene inspired by some talk off the Munchagogue forums. Some fluff, I guess you call it, but nothing too bad. I don't own the characters, or the episode scene from season 1 "Stocks and Bondage." Enjoy!!!
Munch walked into his apartment with his mail and keys and set them both on the counter. Today had been a very long day and it would also be the last day he played the role of Marathon Man when buying everyone's dinner. So much for being courteous and performing his good mitzvah for the day.
"Why can't they all just eat at the same place?" he muttered as he crashed on his couch, "Last time I run my big mouth and say I'm taking off for a bite to eat and ask if they want anything."
The events of the day began to replay in his head. His day had got off to a bad start. His daily newspaper was not delivered before he left for work and he had realized he had ran out of his favorite cereal for breakfast. Worst of all, his milk had gone sour.
So off he went to work on an empty stomach and head. Cassidy had finished the paperwork from a previous case they had both investigated when he had walked in and Munch thought it would be a wise decision to proof-read it. Sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed when he saw all the typos and grammar mistakes. Cassidy had taken off to go get them coffee from a local bodega (Jefferies had made it that morning) and returned fifteen minutes later to find a steaming Munch sitting at his desk.
"What's up Munch?" asked Cassidy.
First mistake.
"Don't you 'What's up, Munch?' me," grumbled Munch.
Cassidy very tentatively set Munch's coffee down on the coffee bar.
"What's wrong?" he asked, watching what he said now.
"This," snarled Munch and he threw down the case report he had in his hand on Cassidy's desk.
"What did I do wrong on the case report?"
"Oh nothing much, EXCEPT FOR ALL THE TYPOS AND GRAMMAR MISTAKES I HAD TO CORRECT!!!"
Munch hated proof-reading and correcting everyone's mistakes on their case reports. It was a known fact in the squad room. He did not care if he was the best in the squad room at pointing out the usages between semi-colons and colons. He did not need to sacrifice what little vision he had left in order to make someone's report look nice for the head honchos above. Anyone partnered with Munch better have their rules of English grammar, punctuation, and spelling down or their punishment was to face an elaborate, unneeded, head-pounding rant on the rule "'I' before 'E', except after 'C.'"
"FIFTY-TWO TYPOS!!! MOST OF THEM COMMON SVU VOCABULARY!!! DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON GRAMMAR!!! YOU HEAR THEM EVERYDAY IN THIS SQUAD ROOM AND YOU CAN'T EVEN SPELL NECROPHELIA?!!! DIDN'T WE SPEND A WHOLE JUST TRYING TO GET YOU TO PRONOUNCE THE WORD AFTER YOU GARBLED IT UP IN YOUR TESTIFICATION IN COURT?!!! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN SPECIAL VICTIMS?"
"Five months," Cassidy replied barely above a whisper.
"OLIVIA PUTS YOU TO SHAME AND SHE'S ONLY BEEN HERE TWO MONTHS!!! SHE CAN EVEN SPELL PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSISES AND SHE CAN DO IT FASTER THAN ME!!!"
Everyone in the squad room stopped what they were doing to see the spectacle unfolding around them. Cassidy wished that he could make himself invisible. What Munch had said was true. He had been there longer than Benson and by now, he should be able to spell what was considered daily vocabulary in the squad room. Munch sighed, realizing he had lost Cassidy at pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosises.
"For God's sake, don't make me buy the current edition of the Webster's Dictionary and make you read five pages a day from it, Bri. If you're not sure about a word, then look it up. That's why spell check exist on the computer these days my friend. Weren't you the one that grew up with computers?" asked Munch, calming down.
"I grew up with Apples," said Cassidy, softly.
"Hey, free coffee!" said Stabler, walking in and taking Munch's source of caffeine.
He opened the lid and took a sip before Munch could say anything. Munch's jaw began to quiver and lucky for Cassidy, the phone rang and he took the call. He wrote the address down, signed a squad car out, and managed to drag Munch out of the squad room before he could explode on Stabler.
Munch's latest case he had snag with Cassidy looked easily like a dunker and his hunch was correct. Somehow, witnesses hung around the crime scene like it was caramel. By the time noon came, they had a few suspects in question so the rest of the work day was spent tracking them down and getting and verifying alibis from them. When six o'clock came, that is when Munch had asked his suicidal question. He was still in shock that he remembered what everyone had wanted.
Tired, he took a hot shower and returned to the counter thirty minutes later where he had his mail while toweling his wet hair dry. He took the pile of envelopes and sat down at his desk. He turned on the desk lamp and began his monotonous procedure of sorting junk mail from things he wished he could throw away, like his rent bill.
"Let's see…sale at Bloomingdales'…corporate bastards trying to take my money on overly expensive crap…bill…I wish I could burn you…another bill…you belong in the burn pile…three percent financing when you register with us for a new home loan…that's either a scam or they must know how poorly I manage my check book...get a free head reading appointment with our phrenologist! Satisfaction guaranteed…"
Munch held back "my ass." Phrenologist…the word or phrenology itself sounded familiar. Wait, now he remembered. A perp had used on him back in The Box a few weeks ago and that's when had countered with pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosises, his word for the day for his squad.
Munch had googled phrenologist afterwards and found out that they were a group of people that could determined character, personality traits, and criminality by reading the shape of the head or bumps. Their practice was called Phrenology.
Ahhh…what the hell? What could he afford to lose from this?
He found his phone and dialed the phone number on the card.
TWO MONTHS LATER
Munch dropped a day book on Benson's desk.
"Sho-Ling didn't have much to say, but her daybook did some talking for her," he said.
"David Kelp…the charity guy," said Benson, taking the daybook and began to flip through it and showed it to Stabler.
"The diamond-hedge charity guy's her boyfriend," said Munch, walking around Benson's desk and stopping between Benson and Stabler's desk border line.
"You gonna pick him up?" asked Stabler, rising from his chair, still looking at the daybook.
"You mind if I beg off? I got an appointment with my phrenologist," Munch said.
Benson shot her partner a "What the hell look?!" before looking Munch in the eye and asking, "Your phrenologist?"
"Yeah, it's like fung shui for the head, it takes seven months to get in, and I don't want to miss this," he said, on the defensive.
"Wouldn't want you to miss that," said Benson, still wondering what the hell a phrenologist was.
"Me neither," chimed in Stabler, still wondering why Munch thought his phrenologist appointment was more important than nabbing a really rich, influential perp.
"Thanks guys," said Munch, and left the bull pen before Cragen came out of his office and asked where the hell he was going when they still had a case to work on.
"Man, I'm slacking," thought Munch as he drove to his appointment, "Fung shui for the head…is that all I could come up with?"
Munch had lied a little when he said it took seven months to get in. It actually took three, but since he had been one of the few callers that called when he received the offer in the mail, he got his schedule two months later at the end of his shift. Since the office didn't close until eight p.m., he still had plenty of time to get there, which wasn't far from work, and he would be the last patient.
Munch arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. He got out of his car, locked it, and went inside. He checked in with the receptionist and sat down in a nearby chair. He winced at how uncomfortable it was.
"God, this makes my office chair at work seem like heaven," he thought as he shifted his weight into a position where it would not bother him as much.
He picked up a Reader's Digest as it seemed the only good thing to read and to also take his mind off of his current discomfort. But he was spared when a lovely, young woman stepped out into the waiting room.
"John Munch, you're next. Julie, you can leave sweetie. I'll close up tonight," she said.
Julie, the receptionist that had signed in Munch, nodded and murmured her thanks. She had her purse in her arms and was leaving when Munch entered the office.
"Sit down over there," said young doctor as she pointed to a couch that looked like what shrinks used when talking to their patients.
She was at his shoulder height, black hair, and had soft brown eyes. Munch did everything in his willpower to try not to act stupid in front of her, but he could not help it. It seemed forever to get over to the couch. He sat down and the woman began to gently prod his head. Munch instantly felt his whole body relaxed.
She talking to him, but he could only make out sea-faring man and one who was also knowledgeable with important topics. His criminal area hardly exist and that is when Munch could not stand it any longer.
"Would you go out with me?" he said, all of a sudden.
The young doctor looked at him.
"Never mind," said Munch, instantly regretting what he had asked, "Just continue with what you were…"
The young woman doctor put a finger on his lips.
"Is that why you came here detective? To ask me out?"
"Well…" began Munch, but words failed him. He was entranced by her beauty.
She bent over and kissed him. Munch felt himself rising to the occasion, led her around and pulled her on top of him.
"Boy, you're quick," she said, laughing softly.
Phrenologists are not so bad after all. He could definitely get used to this.
So proved the future dates that would come with the same doctor that would last for a few months.
END
By the way, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosises does actually exist. It's a noun, plural, and it's a disease of the lungs caused by breathing extremely fine siliceous dust. This monstrosity of a word is 47 letters long and is the longest word in the dictionary. And I learned this from my vocabulary book I use in English AP. There's your random fact for the day!!! Share it with your friends tomorrow at lunch and see if they or you can pronounce it. Thanks for reading!!!