When in the Course of Human Events
Posted: Wed Dec 11, 2019 12:43 pm
When in the Course of Human Events
For one brief shining moment, the Yuma Bulldozer front office felt like home. For the duration of one deep breath, everyone in the office felt optimistic. For the first time in a long time, office workers stood shoulder to shoulder with a new manager, a new bench coach, a new acting General Manager and—most conspicuous in his corporation t-shirt with the multicolored mirrors—old flat top, Mean Mr. Mustard, the Man with the Hobnailed Boots, the new Dozer owner himself, Taffy Slummings. Or was it Tuffy Slammings? Or David Seemings? Or Outlaw Slemmons?
Who knew? Who cared? The wine was pouring, the pot was soaring, the speaker was boring, and Slummings was snoring. Roberta had to wake him to give his first speech as owner of the bedraggled, befuddled, belittled, bemused, and berated Bulldozers. He had promised some good jokes. But when he opened his mouth, all he could say was “I know you, you know me,” but few in the audience knew him at all and no one, not even Roberta, who had spent the last week working with the old codger, knew him well. So he spoke again, in an effort to say something else, but all that came out of his mouth was, “I am you as you are me and we are all together now.”
Slummings looked at Roberta. This wasn’t the speech they had rehearsed, but it was all that was coming out of his mouth.
“I am the owner, I am the owner,” he crooned, “goo goo g’joob.”
And with that Slummings collapsed. Roberta caught his arm and helped him sit in a chair. To the confused and muttering audience, Roberta said in her calmest voice, “Give us a minute, folks. Just a minute.”
Then she leaned into Slummings and said, “What happened?”
He looked up at her and all she could see in his face was fear. He started to say, “I don’t know” but it came out as “See how they smile,” so he covered his mouth with his hand.
Roberta yelled out for some water, then took Slummings’ hand and asked, “Did you have a drink before the event?” He shook his head, hand tightly gripping his traitorous lips. “Smoke anything funny?”
He squinted, cautiously removed his hand to gesture with his thumb and finger: just a little. Before she could tell him that was probably the source of the problem, his mouth began yammering all on its own.
“Like pigs in a sty, see how they snied? I’m dying.”
Roberta repressed a giggle. “No, you’re not. You’re stoned, that’s all.”
“She’s not a girl who misses much” came out of his mouth next. He liked it, and pointed at Roberta. She laughed. “The eyes in my head,” Slummings’ seditious mouth said, “see the sun going down.”
“And the eyes in my head,” Roberta responded, “see the world spinning round.”
Slummings’ face lit up. “I was gonna say that!”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Weren’t.”
“Was.”
“Couldn’t.”
“Could.”
“Wouldn’t.”
“Wo—” Slummings stopped mid-syllable. He smirked at Roberta, then said, very carefully, very deliberately, “Norwegian wood … isn’t it good?”
Roberta laughed. “Sorry, old fart, this bird has flown.”
Slummings pinched her cheek. She leaned in and kissed his. The old man swelled with … well, whatever old men swell with. It sure as hell wasn’t testosterone. But something made his cheeks flush, his heart race, and his mind clear. He looked around the room.
“Have I given my speech yet?”
“Not a word,” Roberta said. “Wanna try?”
She helped him stand and return to the microphone set up for the event. She tapped on the mic and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Once more, I give you, the man whose magical pockets have conjured up this celebration—and paid for all the booze!” A smattering of applause and a few cheers interrupted, “Mr. Taffy Slummings!”
Slummings started his speech again. It came out just the way he planned it.
“Four score and seven years ago …,” he paused dramatically, “I wasn’t even born, so fuck that!” The laughter gave him energy and focus. “But those forefathers Mr. Lincoln referred to saw fit to announce their new world order with the words, ‘When in the course of human events.’ Today, as we launch a new era in the history of the Yuma Baseball Club, I want to emulate those old farts—some were even older than me!—by declaring our independence from—”
He stopped. He stared. Slowly, one by one at first, then in groups, the audience turned to see what Slummings was staring at, what had halted his speech mid-sentence and brought such a pallor to a face flush with excitement only moments before.
“Mr. David Seemings? Or Taffy Slummings?” The officer who’d pronounced the names waited. The audience turned back to look at Slummings, who, when all eyes were on him once again, could only say, “I am he … as you are he … as you are me …and we are all together.”
As the officer marched to the front of the room, he announced, “I am arresting you for the kidnapping and murder of David Goode.”
For one brief shining moment, the Yuma Bulldozer front office felt like home. For the duration of one deep breath, everyone in the office felt optimistic. For the first time in a long time, office workers stood shoulder to shoulder with a new manager, a new bench coach, a new acting General Manager and—most conspicuous in his corporation t-shirt with the multicolored mirrors—old flat top, Mean Mr. Mustard, the Man with the Hobnailed Boots, the new Dozer owner himself, Taffy Slummings. Or was it Tuffy Slammings? Or David Seemings? Or Outlaw Slemmons?
Who knew? Who cared? The wine was pouring, the pot was soaring, the speaker was boring, and Slummings was snoring. Roberta had to wake him to give his first speech as owner of the bedraggled, befuddled, belittled, bemused, and berated Bulldozers. He had promised some good jokes. But when he opened his mouth, all he could say was “I know you, you know me,” but few in the audience knew him at all and no one, not even Roberta, who had spent the last week working with the old codger, knew him well. So he spoke again, in an effort to say something else, but all that came out of his mouth was, “I am you as you are me and we are all together now.”
Slummings looked at Roberta. This wasn’t the speech they had rehearsed, but it was all that was coming out of his mouth.
“I am the owner, I am the owner,” he crooned, “goo goo g’joob.”
And with that Slummings collapsed. Roberta caught his arm and helped him sit in a chair. To the confused and muttering audience, Roberta said in her calmest voice, “Give us a minute, folks. Just a minute.”
Then she leaned into Slummings and said, “What happened?”
He looked up at her and all she could see in his face was fear. He started to say, “I don’t know” but it came out as “See how they smile,” so he covered his mouth with his hand.
Roberta yelled out for some water, then took Slummings’ hand and asked, “Did you have a drink before the event?” He shook his head, hand tightly gripping his traitorous lips. “Smoke anything funny?”
He squinted, cautiously removed his hand to gesture with his thumb and finger: just a little. Before she could tell him that was probably the source of the problem, his mouth began yammering all on its own.
“Like pigs in a sty, see how they snied? I’m dying.”
Roberta repressed a giggle. “No, you’re not. You’re stoned, that’s all.”
“She’s not a girl who misses much” came out of his mouth next. He liked it, and pointed at Roberta. She laughed. “The eyes in my head,” Slummings’ seditious mouth said, “see the sun going down.”
“And the eyes in my head,” Roberta responded, “see the world spinning round.”
Slummings’ face lit up. “I was gonna say that!”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Weren’t.”
“Was.”
“Couldn’t.”
“Could.”
“Wouldn’t.”
“Wo—” Slummings stopped mid-syllable. He smirked at Roberta, then said, very carefully, very deliberately, “Norwegian wood … isn’t it good?”
Roberta laughed. “Sorry, old fart, this bird has flown.”
Slummings pinched her cheek. She leaned in and kissed his. The old man swelled with … well, whatever old men swell with. It sure as hell wasn’t testosterone. But something made his cheeks flush, his heart race, and his mind clear. He looked around the room.
“Have I given my speech yet?”
“Not a word,” Roberta said. “Wanna try?”
She helped him stand and return to the microphone set up for the event. She tapped on the mic and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Once more, I give you, the man whose magical pockets have conjured up this celebration—and paid for all the booze!” A smattering of applause and a few cheers interrupted, “Mr. Taffy Slummings!”
Slummings started his speech again. It came out just the way he planned it.
“Four score and seven years ago …,” he paused dramatically, “I wasn’t even born, so fuck that!” The laughter gave him energy and focus. “But those forefathers Mr. Lincoln referred to saw fit to announce their new world order with the words, ‘When in the course of human events.’ Today, as we launch a new era in the history of the Yuma Baseball Club, I want to emulate those old farts—some were even older than me!—by declaring our independence from—”
He stopped. He stared. Slowly, one by one at first, then in groups, the audience turned to see what Slummings was staring at, what had halted his speech mid-sentence and brought such a pallor to a face flush with excitement only moments before.
“Mr. David Seemings? Or Taffy Slummings?” The officer who’d pronounced the names waited. The audience turned back to look at Slummings, who, when all eyes were on him once again, could only say, “I am he … as you are he … as you are me …and we are all together.”
As the officer marched to the front of the room, he announced, “I am arresting you for the kidnapping and murder of David Goode.”
