MY NUDE TALK WITH THE MAYOR.




Did I ever tell you about my nude conversation with the mayor?




But, before i get into that, let me give you some facts you should be aware


of in order to understand my state of mind during the time of the nude


exchange.




First: Central Florida is the lightning center of the world.


Scientists come here to study it.


Several of them are now sopranos.




Also, bear in mind that I have a serious death fear.


I lie awake nights worrying about earthquakes.


I'm afraid to fly,


and afraid to take a train because a plane might hit it.


I do occasionally take a plane


when my greed gets stronger than my fear.




I know that in the event of a catastrophe, I'll be the only one prepared. I


check exits when entering a building, sniff for gas fumes, and watch for


high ground in case of flood.




I lay out my shoes, clothes, and hat before retiring,


in such a way that I'll be able to leap directly from the bed


into a fully dressed condition...Ready for action.


If there's ever a fire, I'll have to save everybody.


I bought a bunch of burglar alarms that look like doorstops.


These are wedge shaped gadgets that you slide under the door,


and when somebody tries to open it,


it holds the door shut and lets out a bloodcurdling noise.




I had just slid the first one under the kitchen door,


when Misty drove into the carport.


Aha! She would be my test pilot.




She opened the door, walked right past me, and said:


"Hi. What are you doing on the floor?".


The door had opened OUTWARD!




People who don't think about nuclear attack, ptomaine poisoning, tidal


waves, etc., are idiots.


They don't understand the seriousness of the situation.


They'll be the first ones I'll have to save,


after I get my shoes, clothes, and hat on.




As for lightning, there are certain rules we must follow to avoid death or


walking funny. Don't Be:


On a beach;


near water;


near bedsprings;


near a fireplace;


near plumbing;


on top of a house or hill;


in a bathtub;


near a cow;


under a flagpole;


or in a draft.




I was in the shower,


hurrying to get out because it was thundering outside.


I was sort of jumping lightly up and down


to break the ground connection.


Lightning always seeks a ground connection.




I keep a phone in the bathroom


in case of the big break call from Hollywood


I've been expecting all my life.




Anyway, it was thundering, I was washing and jumping,


and the phone rang.


I thought I'd been struck!




"Hi! This is the mayor", he said as i sprawled on the floor, the back half


of me still in the shower. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."




"Oh, no!", I assured him. I had met the mayor a couple of times,


and I kind of thought he might be calling to offer me a big job with the


city. I had often wondered why they never asked me.




"Hold on a second, will you, mayor?",


I said cheerfully, as lightning struck a tree in the backyard.


I put down the phone long enough to get my back end out of the bath. I


realized that talking on the phone


is another thing you're not supposed to do during a storm,


but how often does the mayor call?




I picked up the phone again


and heard him say something and hang up.


"Jeez!", I said. "If you couldn't wait one lousy minute!"




I sat there, dripped, and stared at the phone.




"To hell with him and his lousy job!", I thought.




Misty later asked me if something was wrong. She said I had a funny


expression.




I told her about the strange call from the mayor,


and we hoped he wasn't hitting the sauce.




At eleven o'clock i turned on the news to see if I could JUST ONCE pick out


tomorrow's forecast from the weather guy's meteorological lecture, and I


missed it again.




Then they showed the tape recorders. They told how everybody in town got a


RECORDED call from the mayor, concerning some stupid issue that was up for


a vote.




They played the tape:


"Hi! This is the mayor", it said. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad


time."




"Go to hell", I said.




Jack Blanchard.




© 2001.




--


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