A man walks into a restaurant. He orders an ibis sandwich. After taking one bite, he leaves the restaurant and kills himself. Why does he kill himself?
The answer is reached by asking the puzzle master yes and no questions only. This was introduced to me at a youth retreat years ago and I have since introduced it to camps and classrooms. I’ve had young people solved within hours or over the course of weeks.
Engage if you’d like. The beauty of this puzzle is not the answer, but instead the process by which you reach the answer. The group of potential solvers takes baby steps toward piecing the story together until they have unraveled a fairly complex background story. To hear the answer straight out is very disappointing and a little irritating. You’d wonder, “How was I supposed to figure THAT out?” But if you take the journey one step at a time, itr can be meditative, ponderous and humorous.
Were there drugs in his food that made him depressed? NO
Did he take drugs that made him depressed? NO
Did he drink alcohol at the restaurant? NO
Did the food remind him of a terrible incident in his life? YES
Does he have a particular affinity for Ibis? NO
Did the ibis taste too much like chicken? NO (surprizingly common question)
Yes or No Questions:
Were there drugs in his food that made him depressed?
Did he take drugs that made him depressed?
Did he drink alcohol at the restaurant?
Did the food remind him of a terrible incident in his life?
Does he have a particular affinity for Ibis?
Did the ibis taste too much like chicken?
Were there drugs in his food that made him depressed? NO
Did he take drugs that made him depressed? NO
Did he drink alcohol at the restaurant? NO
Did the food remind him of a terrible incident in his life? YES
Does he have a particular affinity for Ibis? NO
Did the ibis taste too much like chicken? NO
The answer is…
Once he took a bite of the sandwich, the taste of ibis took him back to his childhood, where he grew up in a small industrial town in Pennsylvania. It is here, in this town, that he watched his father slave away in the local ibis meat processing plant. For years little Jimmy (which is the assumed name of our tragic figure in our initial scenario) lamented the absence of his father but yet he still understood that his father’s long hours were necessary to keep their family in the bottom ranks of the middle-class. However, on one fateful day, the owner of said ibis plant died from a horrific, yet expected, heart-attack…after all, ibis meat, which was the choice meat in this humble town, is a very fatty meat and heart-attacks were as common as dandelions.
So…as a suprise to many of the upperlevel employees, little Jimmy’s father took over Ibis Meats inc. Few, if any, employees knew about the bond that big boss man shared with Jimmy senior–the picnic lunches, the beerhall nights, etc.
Now Jimmy senior was never home, he spent his late nights and most of his weekend hours plugging away at the factory (which seemed unnecessary due to the drastic decrease in Ibis popularity that was occuring across the US in that time). However, now the family had climbed the ranks and hit upper middle class status and with a little hope, maybe, just maybe (if Ibis ever took on), they could hit upper class! But none of this mattered to little Jimmy; sure his mom seemed happier and now he had better clothes, toys, etc. but all he really wanted was a father, one who didn’t come home when it was dark, one who didn’t track feathers all over the house, one who would play catch with him in the back yard, and most importantly, one who didn’t smell of Ibis.
And then, Little Jimmy gave in. At the age of 15, he took a job at the factory. His father started him on the processing line; a filthy, terrible job that consisted of feather plucking and colon cleaning. But his dreams were strong and vivid–one day, he would sit next to his father and they would work together and make up for all the time they lost over the years. With hard work and determination, little Jimmy eventually worked his way up to the main office. By this time, his father had aquired a strong taste for Ibis and had been over indulging. Little Jimmy hardly recongized him; his father’s jowels hung and shimmered like drapes and his belly drooped low over his belt, however, his legs resembled that of the mythical Ibis, both short and twig-like.
“Father?” Jimmy spoke. “What has become of you?”
“I am not your father!” he growled. “I am Thoth, father of the Ibis!”
A loud and piercing cackle insued.
“No…” Jimmy replied, “you are my father!”
“I will not have an employee of mine speak to me in such an informal manner! You shall eat an ibis burger now, in veneration to I or you shall leave this plant, never to return again!”
“I will eat your burger, only if you admit that you are my father,” Jimmy demanded. He felt, for the first time, a sense of self-respect as he spoke.
“I admit nothing,” said the birdman.
“But you are, you are my father.”
“Leave, leave this factory at once.” Said Thoth. “And I will only speak to you again after you took your veneration in homage to me!”
“Never!” Jimmy said; he felt proud and independent for the first time in his life. He no longer wanted the approval of his father.
Little Jimmy then left the Ibis factory and his little town. He promised himself he would never eat the meat of the Ibis, for it was only then that he would lose his own independence, it was then that he would become a servent to his own past, and the figure who had rejected him in his youth.
Years later, in a little deli in Baton Rogue, Jimmy mistakenly order an Ibis sandwich, thinking in was an Ibiza sandwich (a mediterranean-style sandwich with spanish olives and curred ham). Upon finishing the meal, the girl behind the counter said: “was that any good? no one ever orders the Ibis.”
Jimmy’s face turned red and his heart sunk. The taste of Ibis was there all along but he tried to convince himself it was something else, perhaps meat not quite curred. But now, with her reassurence, his past came flashing back.
“Are you sure it was Ibis?” he asked. She shook her head.
He swallowed heavily, though his throat was dry from anxiety and fatty bird meat.
“Actually,” he said, “yes. It was quite good. Now if you excuse me…”
“Have a good day,” said the girl. “And please come back again!”
But, of course, he would never return.
Jeff, did you just make this up!?