"Theseus" by Clinton MyersThe first coffee spill didn’t occur until an hour and a quarter into the second presentation. We had gone so long into the event without one that I had forgotten to be looking for it - had forgotten just how consequential that kind of thing was for a group such as this – could be fodder for lighthearted punch lines for years to come. In fact, I’ve known a well-timed mishap to save a man’s social life but never quite like this.
The excitement of the moment leapt through the room as everyone turned to the culprit, who himself looked around for help – napkins – from anyone; not knowing whether he was expected to go get them himself or stay to guard the scene until some authorities showed up to put yellow tape around the area. Then, the presenter paused - taken aback by the sudden surge of life in the audience - and cleared his antediluvian throat in an attempt to stifle the noise, refusing to trudge into the 37 th slide until the excitement level had dropped back to the customary level of a mortuary. At that, so smoothly that it looked choreographed, the heavyset lady sitting next to the coffee spiller stood and hoisted the much smaller gentleman into the air by his waist and onto her shoulder. She started the chant, but we all chimed in as we followed the bobbing duo down the aisle between the collapsible tables and out into the hallway, where a cheering crowd was massing. He had saved us – our Theseus in loafers and a white dress shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up.
1 Comment
ChappyBrit
8/4/2019 07:21:18 pm
Feverishly well written, mate.
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorsNovember 2020 Archives
January 2021
|