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August | September | October | November | Home Broccoli soup tanker overturns near school, students panic December 5, 2000 Community tree run down by gambling tourist bus December 12, 2000 Hallelujah Laundromat hosts Santa in his union suit December 19, 2000 Dead cat drop will highlight New Year December 26, 2000 Broccoli soup tanker overturns near school, students panic By Wilma Whipstittle Signal-Gazette Staff Writer Hungry children waiting in their lunch lines at Stray Lake Elementary fled the building in terror last Friday when a tank truck loaded with cream of broccoli soup overturned and spilled its load into the school cafeteria. No one was injured in the chaos set off when the two-foot high wave of soup swept out of the kitchen, but many students reportedly spent the weekend huddled whining in their beds. "We are offering counseling," school principal Webster Nottaclue said Monday. "Attendance is just about back to normal, the soup smell should be gone by the time the cheap perfume we sprayed wears off, and we will do all we can to help our students put this horrible incident behind them. We have the state proficiency tests coming up and we want students to do well on them, or at least better than they did last year. We are hoping to score higher than at least one or two third-world nations." Stray County Sheriff Legible Thomas said the accident was still under investigation, "But it appears the truck driver swerved to avoid hitting Miss Matilda Chuker, who was passing on her way to the library, and just flat lost it. The fact Miss Matilda started blazing away with that pistol she carries probably didn't help matters, and may in fact have opened the initial rupture in the truck." Head cook Jean Anne Comfit was the first to notice the soup as it seeped under the back door of the kitchen. She went to investigate just as the surging liquid pushed open the door. She hopped onto a tray she was carrying and rode the wave through the kitchen and out the swinging that lead to the buffet lines. "The students thought it was pretty cool, at first, and were yelling for her to 'Hang ten' and such," Webster recalled. "Then they noticed what the wave was made of and, I suppose, figured we had changed the lunch menu. They just stood there for a few seconds, and the wave kind of slowed to an ooze. Then it picked up speed again and they turned as a group and headed for the back doors. I just wish they could do a fire drill that quickly, it'd maybe get the state fire marshall off our backs about the broken sprinklers and smoke detectors." Fourth grade student Billy Gorter recalled that the wave "smelled horrible, and was a sick-looking green, and had all these little bits of br ... br ... I tell you, it was just awful. I am sure this incident will scar my entire life and I will be a guest on many sleazy TV talk shows. At the very least, I know I will be a brown-bagger for the rest of my school career and will require permission to eat lunch as far away as I can get from the cafeteria." Webster said the counselors would talk to Billy about that, adding, "I hope he doesn't want to make too big a deal out of scarring his entire life. We're paying these people by the hour." The Stray Lake Volunteer Fire Department flushed both the street and the cafeteria after the tanker was towed away, and fire chief Randy Mossbreath said later at the Tipple Time that his fire fighters deserved a big round of praise for their efforts. "We all hate broccoli, too," he said. "We had the breathing apparatus out for the people who were closest to the spill. It went down the storm drains really slowly, too. I just hope it doesn't contaminate the sewage lagoon." Randy added he was considering asking the state environmental people to put broccoli soup on their hazardous materials list and require truckers to notify local authorities when shipments would be coming through their towns. "We have to plan ahead," the chief explained. "If Lou the bartender hadn't restocked just this morning we'd be in big trouble here." The community Christmas tree on the Town Square was demolished when a busload of gambling tourists ran over it Sunday night. The tree was plastered to the front of the bus, as was vagrant Tooley Firestone who had crawled up into the evergreen with a bottle. Tooley was evidently limber enough to have suffered no harm, but the tree was considerably worse for the wear and will have to be replaced. "I issued the driver a citation for treenapping, and told him I would drop it if he would make good the $9.75 we paid for the thing in the first place, plus $6 for the lights," town marshall Carmella Casey revealed. "Those were new lights" The driver forked over and drove off for Loomisville, tree and Tooley still on the front of the bus. "I guess they were in a big hurry to lose their money," Carmella surmised. "We will have to call over to Loomisville and have someone put Tooley in a taxi, for I believe they frown on vagrants in their municipal trees." Meanwhile, an emergency session of the town council was convened at the Tipple Time to consider a new tree and ways top protect it from speeding gambling tourists. "We could station Miss Matilda Chuker on the square," Third District Councilperson Paul Boxtuttler suggested. "Spin her around a couple of times, tell she is passing on her way to the library, and let her stagger around with that pistol she carries." "No, no we need to put up a big, cement-filled pipe and tie the tree to that," Fourth District Councilperson Jay Fliptrickle, Jr. countered. "That way, there will be carnage on a grand scale when the next bus hits it and my son, Jay Fliptrickle, III will have a chance to practice his first-aid skills. He is earning a badge, you know." Even in the absence of town attorney Josiah Brief, whose holiday parole has again been denied, everyone else thought this was a bad idea so they sat and thought for a time. About two beers later, Earnina Boxtuttler, Paul's second wife, suggested, "Why don't we move the tree out of the street, maybe onto the courthouse lawn?" Mayor Leroy Wertzbrimmer bristled at this suggestion, noting, "The tree has traditionally been in the middle of the street. It is a holiday trapping the citizens of Stray Lake eagerly look forward to. We must not change stuff just because of a few gambling tourists." Blue (formerly Blue-Green) the dog, who is attending all council meetings as part of the transition to the alternating mayor system, wagged his tail in agreement, Blue and Leroy evidently having more in common than they think. But there was disagreement, most notably from Carmella, who pointed out that the citizens of Stray Lake also frequently drive into the tree. "It got knocked down 14 times last year, by my count," she told the council. "And I may not have counted every time, since it's pretty much a matter of habit to stick the thing back in its hole when you knock it over. We've never actually lost it before, but it sure looks pretty ratty by the end of the month." A quick vote was taken, and the council was unanimous in deciding to move the tree to the courthouse lawn, despite threats of a suit from Leroy and Blue. Several rounds later, the question of where to obtain a tree came up. "I think the Swansees ought to donate that big blue spruce in their front yard," Earnina Boxtuttler suggested. "I thought they wintered in Florida every year," Paul said. Earnina smiled and ordered another round, and as this reporter left so as not to be liable to testify, the council, Leroy, and Blue were heading for the Swansee's lawn carrying the chain saw chef Juan de Fuca uses on the steaks he buys in bulk from fly-by-night suppliers. Santa's decision to leave his castle on the Town Square to launder his increasingly soiled suit was welcomed by mothers and children alike in Stray Lake, but not so well received at the Hallelujah Laundromat and Apostolic Church of Confusion. "He took off his Santa suit, threw it into our jumbo-sudser number 1, then lit a cigar and stood there in his long johns," Laundromat and church owner the Rev. Basilica Shout explained. "Then he reached into one of his boots, pulled out a half-pint of whiskey, and just sort of sipped his way through both rinse cycles and the spin-dry. His head kept rolling around on his neck as he followed the whirling clothes. What kind of thing is that for Santa to do?" Town marshall Carmella Casey had arrived sometime during the second rinse after working herself through the traffic jam which had formed when the crowd that gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Hallelujah spilled into the street. Inside, there was a crowd of Apostolic Church of Confusion members around Santa. "There was a prayer meeting going on back among the wash tubs and folding tables," Carmella explained. "I guess that area doubles as the church. Anyway, when they noticed Santa sipping whiskey in his union suit they moved the meeting to the front of the building and made him their chief objective. He didn't seem to mind, just kept sipping and rolling his head, then asked what they all wanted for Christmas and passed out suckers." By the time Santa's suit was ready for the dryer the crowd watching from the street was about evenly divided between sipping and conversion and began to make placards and shout at each other. Carmella called Stray County Sheriff Legible Thomas for backup and the two of them separated the partisans. Traffic was by now so snarled that mayor Leroy Wertzbrimmer showed up and began to make a speech, turning an ugly scene even uglier. Inside the Hallelujah, the church members were working hard on Santa as he sipped, smoked, watched the dryer, and rolled his head but showed no signs of conversion. "I thought we had him about halfway through his first set of dryer quarters," the Rev. Basilica told this reporter. "Then he noticed that the red from his suit had bled onto the white trim. Talk about backsliding! Does he talk to the children like that?" Only the ones that bite, the Rev. was assured, and then only until their mothers pry their jaws open. Santa finally decided his clothes were dry, got back into them, wished the congregation a Merry Christmas, and left by the back door to avoid the crowd. Lej and Carmella feared the situation would turn violent but talked the contending placard carriers into dispersing by promising to make Leroy shut up. Carmella stuffed three or four doughnuts from her cruiser into the mayor's mouth and as he sputtered even more unintelligibly than usual the crowd threw down their signs and wandered into the night, allowing traffic to unclog. "Well, at least he got his suit clean," Carmella observed. "Let's just hope he doesn't spill anything on it tonight at the Tipple Time, especially not Juan's wings." The Wojo Harris Big Band and Dead President Impersonators will again headline the traditional New Year's celebration at the Town Square, and the time-honored descent of the dead cat from the tip of Colonel Richardson's sword will signal the first day of 2001. "I hope the cat is really dead this year, for last year's model revived just before it hit the fountain and took off at a dead run," Civic Club President Bethelina Tutter recalled. "The people in the white robes who were predicting doom for the new Millennium had a field day. I think we may call the pound at Loomisville for a freeze-dried cat." "Why must we use a dead cat?" Althea Gibson of the Committee Against Using dead Cats for Things asked. "Why not a dead skunk or a dead possum or a dead person? It seems unusually cruel to use a dead cat, and rather silly besides." "Well, we can't use dead people because they would be too heavy for the colonel's sword," Bethelina theorized. "Dead skunks would keep your crowd way down, and dead possums look kind of bad descending from the ends of swords to mark the New Year. Besides, a dead cat is traditional." Stray Lake U history professor Bernard Vague agreed, noting, "It seems the first dead cat was dropped from the colonel's sword in 1924 by Kendall Starkwell, a strange young man who had wealthy and indulgent parents. They paid people not to object to the ritual, and had those who did shipped to Loomisville. By 1952, the cat dropping was a folk tradition and could not be done away with." "I think it had more to do with the great number of dead cats we have in Stray Lake," Alabaster Genuflect theorized. "Why every morning under my car, in the pool of antifreeze that leaks from the radiator, I find several dead cats. So I think the dead cat dropping is probably some satanic ritual to ward off dead cats under cars. Or, someone just liked seeing dead cats dropped from swords on New Year's Eve. Possibly both." History aside, town marshall Carmella Casey said she would have this year's crowd under control. "I have rigged my Chihuahua, Yipyip, up with a bass-magnifying microphone," she revealed. "Yipyip will sit in the back seat of my cruiser, and if the crowd gets rowdy when the cat drops I will use the cattle prod on him. He will sound like a German Shepherd and the people should come right into line. If they don't, I have no idea what we'll do. "I believe I will panic, as I did last year," Eugenia Earster decided. "When the dead cat took off out of the fountain and the white-robed people announced the world was coming to an end, I ran to the Tipple Time and ordered a series of suicidal drinks. Only the application of chef Juan de Fuca's buzzard wings saved me, and I have been grateful to Juan ever since. I just wish he would call." The next-to-the-last-word on the subject went to Lorinda Peabody, the great-great granddaughter of the colonel, who said, "The old fool hated cats and loved a good party. What would be more suitable than this? I just wish I could be here to see it, but I would not return to Stray Lake for all the tea in China or even all the gambling money in Loomisville." Last word came from Lou the bartender, who said the Tipple Time would have free hats for revelers who showed up from the square to finish off the evening. He announced the parking lot would be open until noon on January 1, with shuttle service provided to anyplace revelers might remember they wanted to go. |
| ©2000, Robert A. Markwalter. All rights reserved. |