Hello.
As the few of you who might
read this blog might know, one of the most beloved childhood icons of mine recently
passed away. Chris Wedes was better
known a J.P. Patches- a local children’s show star. I was originally going to write about the significance
he and his show had upon my childhood, that is was one of the two shows I made
sure to never miss. (The other?
Starblazers.) But it just didn’t feel
right. So I am going to show my tribute
to J.P. a different way.
When I have some spare time
and no immediate projects to do, I have been taking to improve my storytelling
skills. Throughout the days I would
witness events that stuck in my head. I
would then make a title based on said event.
Then I would take one of the titles and write out a story based on it
and only gave myself 10-20 minutes. The
basic stories were children’s tales based on the style of Sid Fleischman, whose
tall tales- inspired stories of Josh McBroom and his amazing farm were a great
read to me when I was younger. (Why
children’s tales? I wouldn’t mind really
writing a couple…) They were surreal
tales told in a world that might or might not be in the imagination of the main
character- a man known only as ‘The Red Cap’ who worked at a train station in
the port town of Seatown. They for the
most part were just exercises, kept simple so I could focus on telling the
tale.
And yes, they are VERY loosely
based on my job.
Quite honestly, they are not
the best tales. If I went back and
‘fixed them up’ they would be far better, but that was never the intent of
them. They were not really for anyone
but myself (and maybe a lucky person or two if I felt in the mood). I have done about a dozen, and may do more. But this one time I think I will share
one. All I have done to it is made appropriate
paragraph breaks, punctuation and grammar fixes. Otherwise it is exactly as I wrote it.
It deals with a situation
the titular character cannot solve on his own so he asks the help of a special
friend of his. I like to think that J.P.
would have liked this. So without
further ado, I present to you:
Tales of The Red Cap-
Invasion of the Clown Clones!!!
So did I ever tell you of the
time I had to stop an infestation of clown clones?
It was a bright sunny
Wednesday-which was strange since it was supposed to be Saturday. I was returning from a lunch of delicious
fish pancakes (with maple syrup, of course) and was ready to tackle the day's
challenges and be my best to assist all who needed me. Why did I leave the station? Amazing but true, even I sometimes leave the
workplace.
Especially for fish pancakes.
Anyways, as I stepped into
the lobby, I began to feel something was a bit off- a bit...funny. The station was busy as always. Passengers
going to and coming from the trains. My
fellow employees keeping everything running smooth. But something just was not right.
I looked around; trying to
see what has set off my redcap sense. I
looked at everyone's outfits. Neatly
pressed suits, fashionable dresses, comfortable shorts and shirts, big squeaky
shoes and colorful frilly collars everywhere.
So far nothing seemed out of place.
I looked at the people in the station.
They all looked pale- pretty much sheet white. (But that's how everyone looks in
Seatown.) Healthy red lips that covered the
entirety of there lower faces, bright carefully coiffed hair done in a rainbow
of colors, and rosy noses that looked almost like red rubber balls...
...
Waittaminute...
It was then, in the midst of
a slowly dawning realization (I blame the pancakes) that I noticed that people
were not talking to each other, but honking horns at each other. It then hit me-
A cream pie thrown from
someone.
"It's clowns!" I
exclaimed. I looked at my fellow
employees. They were all now clowns. I
know they like to have fun-
don't we all- but this was
beyond anything they had done before.
As I had this revelation I
also noticed the squeaking sounds diminishing.
And all the clowns stopped their activities and were looking at me. I stopped wiping the cream pie off of my
shirt, (One must always try to be professional), and gazed back at them. From the back of the clown crowd-
(Clowd?)
A high pitched voice rang out
“GET HIM!" Dozens, if not hundreds
of squeaky shoes sound as they stepped towards me.
Realizing that I must find
help to solve this problem, I exited out to the platform, looking for my
constant friend and kart, Li'l B. We
could get to a safe distance to think this out. I looked in his usual resting
place and found him.
40 clowns were packed in him,
filling every nook and cranny. He could
not help me. He looked stuffed. I quickly passed by this monument to clown
physics and entered the train parked on the tracks next to me.
I closed the door and looked
around. No clowns- but something else
odd. Bundles wrapped tightly in bright
colored streamers were strewn about. They
wiggled slowly on occasion. Dedication
to my duty overrode any uneasiness I may have had and I examined the bundles. One was wrapped in the spot usually reserved
for Conductor Bob when he was on the train.
I looked and lo and behold, Conductor Bob's cap was on the table in
front of the bundle. Since I know
Conductor Bob would rather lose a limb rather than lose his cap, I instantly
knew what the wrapped bundle was-
If you didn't also think
Conductor Bob, then you aren't paying attention.
I touched the bundle, trying
to get a reaction.
It fell of the seat onto the
floor.
Oops.
It wiggled and I tried to
tear off the wrappings. No luck. It
wasn't ordinary paper. Meanwhile outside
the train I could hear the squeaking shoes.
It wouldn't be long before they found me.
I had to act.
So after I did Marc Anthony's
friends Romans countrymen speech, I decided I needed help.
And I knew just who to call.
Grabbing the phone Conductor
Bob normally uses to let us know what the train needs, I dialed. (I hope they don't get mad at this.
Technically it IS work related.) It rang
and rang, and yes, I started to worry a bit.
He might be on vacation, I thought as he answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"You're there!" I
said happily.
"I should hope so,
otherwise someone else is eating my lunch" he said back to me.
I knew I picked the right-
well, clown for the job. You see, my
friend is a literal clown- but not just ANY clown. He is rather
well known, and was even the mayor of our garbage dump for some time.
The clown de la clown, so to speak.
But he retired, so out of respect I will keep
his identity secret.
(That and the fact I couldn't
afford paying the royalties.) "I
need your help on a clown-related issue!" I told him.
"What's the problem?" He asked.
I showed him the story up to this point.
(It was easier that telling
him.)
"Any ideas?" I
asked.
“Yes. Next time I should add
bacon to my tuna fish sandwich."
"That is a great
idea." I replied. He thought for
about a minute.
"It sounds like you have
an infection of clown clones. It's a rather rare condition these days, but it
still breaks out from time to time."
"Any idea how to end it
and save all these people they cloned?"
"Oh that's easy"
said my clown friend, "You just have to ignore their antics and be
completely serious around them"
"That's it?"
"Yes. Since they are not
real clowns, like me, they won't be able to handle that. They should puff away
in clouds of confetti- which will revive the people they cloned."
"That's great. Any other
advice?"
"Yes. A little pepper in
tuna fish makes it very tasty."
"That IS good to
know."
"Good luck," said
my friend, "I'll keep track on you on my ICU2TV."
"HEY! You did that on purpose!"
"Sorry about that,"
he said. "Force of habit. I'll take a meal out with you in lieu of any fees,
OK? But not the fish pancakes- they are a bit dry to my taste."
*sigh* "OK."
I hung up and started to
think. What could I do that would be
serious enough to stop them? My serious
dedication to my duty wasn't enough- I had to think even more serious. As I was thinking, I looked around the car.
Then it caught my eye.
It was a calendar. I looked
at it and had a revelation:
It actually WAS
Wednesday.
(I should keep better track
of the days.)
I then looked at the month
and an idea formed...
The clown clones wandered
around the lobby. Occasionally one would
slip on a banana peel- others hit by a pie or seltzer water. Steeling my resolve I entered, dragging in a
table laden with books, papers, and a calculator.
I pulled my load-
And the table, of course-
To the center of the
lobby. I quickly unfolded the chair on
the table and sat down. (Do I ALWAYS
have to spell everything out?) I pulled out
a sheet of papers, a pencil, and a paper booklet. How to prepare taxes the cover read.
As the clowns started to
squeak up on me, I began to read:
"When doing your taxes,
make sure to include the following forms for triplicate filing..."
The clowns screamed. They writhed in pain as I organized the forms
by size in alphabetic order. The first
one burst into a cloud of confetti when I started punching figures on the
calculator.
Encouraged, I started to work
harder.
It was a good thing I hadn't
done my taxes yet. While I have the utmost dedication to my duty, I admit my
failings at keeping due diligence in all things. Good thing it worked in my favor this
time. My pencil flew across the forms,
adding, subtracting... square rooting.
Brightly colored puffs of confetti erupted everywhere. It was like a
snowstorm of color. "Why so
serious?' A voice painfully muttered.
I stooped for a second and
looked up. It was the clown clone of Conductor Bob, looking very worse for wear
from my actions. "Begone, you bad
copy!" I triumphantly yelled as I started itemizing deductions. (That retort worked on more levels than the bureaucracy
I was filing paperwork for.)
He quickly burst in a
colorful pop.
The bursts and pops grew less
frequent as I neared the end of my labor.
Finally, as I signed my name declaring that under penalty of jail I told
the truth, (Which I always do), I looked up and saw all the clown clones gone.
Employees and passengers
dazedly wandered through the piles of bright squares of paper, shaking off the
effects of the infestation. I had succeeded. The people were safe.
Investigators after the fact
found that it all started due to a counterfeit whoopee cushion. It was quickly
isolated and locked away. I didn't see
that, as I was attending to my duties-
Well, after all I DID have to
clean up the mess left in the lobby...
The end.
Goodbye J.P., from one of
the last of the Patches Pals…
