It’s nearly St. Patrick’s Day again, and most of people in
the ward who knew about it (and thankfully, there weren't many) have tried to
forget all about it. As far as I know,
the only ones who have succeeded have been those who have undergone
therapy. That is, if you exclude Sister
Mulrooney, who, bless her heart, hasn't been remembering much these last few
years anyway.
The whole episode should serve as a warning to youth who
think they know better, and to their elders, who should know better—an image in
the brain is extraordinarily difficult to get rid of once implanted. And before reading further, I would advise you to honestly consider your
own well-being. If you have a nervous
disposition, and a fine memory, you might want to stop reading at this
point. When Brother Stubbs started
telling me about it after Sunday school that week, I should have listed to the subtle whisperings and run the other
direction. But there you are. It seems for an older coot of 57, I should have know better too.
Here begins the narrative:
St. Patrick’s day 2013 was barely two weeks away. Sister Switzer loved St. Patrick’s Day. Her grandfather on her mother’ side was an
O’Malley, and the Irish blood in her veins ran strong. She usually decorated
extensively on the inside of the house, and it would have been well and good if
she had contented herself with that this year. But she had been reading a
trendy Ladies’ Décor magazine and wanted to broaden her festive decorating
horizons. She approached her
longsuffering husband, Eustus, with a
quart of Irish green paint and a brush:
“Eustus” she said, “paint the
front door green.”
53 years of experience with Sister Switzer had taught him
that resistance was futile. Without
even asking “why?” he proceeded to the
laundry room (he was very methodical) where he changed into his paint
coveralls. His ancestry was German,
and high on his list of genetic imperatives was efficiency. The doorway was
fairly private, being over in the older Rock Canyon Condominiums, and like many
portly Germans, he was not excessively modest anyway. “Why risk getting paint on perfectly good underwear?” he
reasoned, and sporting only his Big Ben bib overalls, not even socks, he
proceeded to the front porch where he carefully laid out newspaper.
He proceeded to shake the quart of paint thoroughly and then
opened it with a paint can opener he had taken from the knick-knack drawer next
to the washing machine. He set the lid
on the newspaper at the side of the porch and then realized he had nowhere to
place the can—owing to his solid build, bending over onto the ground was not
practical, so he put the can in the macramé plant hanger his wife had made some
20 years previously on a homemaking night.
He reached for the paintbrush in his back pocket but dropped the paint
can opener as he was doing so and bent way over to pick it up.
Brother Switzer was not skittish by nature. But he did have one phobia. Owing to an unfortunate experience he had
with a weasel when he was but a lad of 10, he was deathly afraid of not only
weasels, but every member of the weasel family including ferrets. Which wasn't a problem until his neighbor
Tynan Hamilton got a ferret the week before.
The condo association rules were clear on dogs and cats, including their
size and number, but unfortunately for Brother Switzer, mute on the subject of
ferrets. Tynan had been giving his mild
mannered ferret (Will) some fresh air on the front porch when he got a call
from his dance partner, Tish Windale.
Understandably distracted by the lovely Tish’s call, his ferret had
dashed across the street and right up onto the porch behind Brother Switzer
just as he was bending over to pick up the paint opener. It sniffed and licked his ankle ever so
slightly and that was enough!
He caught a glimpse of the ferret and shouted and stood up
straight with such speed that he upended the green paint can with his
head. The can deposited the entire
contents in almost equal amounts down the front and back of Brother Switzer’s
personage. The ferret vanished with
such speed that afterwards he couldn't recall if it had really been there or
was merely some vivid twist of memory that had transformed a cat into a
ferret. Spluttering and gesturing
wildly, his wife opened the door just then to see what the furor was and was
shocked and appalled at the sight, but being an excellent housekeeper, she coolly slammed the door in his face to
prevent the green apparition from disturbing her tidy interior.
Eustus was breathing hard at this point and about to batter
the door down when Sister Switzer opened the door and handed him a towel. “Go around to the garage, Eustus, I don’t
want any paint in the house!” at which she slammed the door again. Barely in control of his faculties, Eustus
carefully peeled off the overalls so as not to drip paint on the sidewalk, and
began making his way around to the garage, swathed only in the green towel,
which was mostly too small anyway.
Misfortunes often come in company, and this was to be no
exception. As he was making his way
down the sidewalk, three things occurred nearly simultaneously. 1. Sister Janus across the street was
watering her plants just inside the open garage, 2. Aly LaComb and Taylor
Pugmire were working on an personal progress objective and delivering cookies
to older ward members including the Switzers, and 3. Brother Soaki was driving
his BYU Police cruiser through the condominiums to check on Hinosa Wilson. Well, four things actually, 4. Will the
ferret was retracing his steps toward Hamilton’s house.
The consequences were almost instantaneous but possibly
happened in this order. 1. Through
peripheral vision Brother Switzer glimpsed the ferret and panicked, dropping
his wholly inadequate towel, 2. Sister Janus screamed at the sight of the
shrieking green demon apparently lunging toward the Laurels delivering cookies;
3. The Laurels turned from looking at
Sister Janus to see Brother Switzer clothed only in green paint rushing towards
them and 4. Brother Soaki, with the cool presence born of years in various
police forces, switched on his lights, leapt from the car, and apprehended the
monster.
And there the matter might have ended after a brief
interview with the victim/perpetrator had not Tynan responded as a true child
of the digital age when confronted with an unusual spectacle. His conversation with Tish just ended, cell
phone in hand, he filmed about 8 seconds of the embarrassing horror. By 7:30 the next morning, his posting titled
“Crazed Leprechaun Terrorizes Innocent Church Girls” had received 1.5 million
hits.
Aftermath:
Will the Ferret returned home without further
consequence. Sister Janus mostly
recovered after nearly a year of therapy.
Tynan was able to pay for his entire mission with a little savvy
advertising on his blog. Sister Switzer
went to visit her sister in Fresno for an extended vacation. Laurels Aly and Taylor became very popular
youth speakers on the EFY circuit. Of
all the victims, Brother Switzer, it seems, suffered the least as he had no
internet presence whatsoever, and frankly didn't understand what all the fuss
was about a little painting accident.
No comments:
Post a Comment