A series of events, like a pebble cast upon a pond, causes ripples. This is one such story, which happened in a tiny community in the Garden State.
Behind it all, is the callous disregard the school district shows towards the parents, and by extension the students. All they wanted is to know who their children’s teachers were so they could get ready for school. Each grade, and each teacher, requires specific materials, as directed by the testing of the year to check competencies. (We should be checking for creativity, problem solving, imagination, and the arts; instead we look for benchmarks that have been prepared by administrators who are sitting on their best intentions, but that’s another story.) The schools don’t want to deal with the outcry of parents, who work to pay their very salaries. And due to a mistake, not caught by postal carrier (who was covering the route for the regular letter carrier), a tray of mail was mislaid. Numerous calls to the confused and befuddled Postmaster, who never received more than 2 calls in any day, threw the office into a state of manic, unfocused energy, and as a result, the mail was unfound, but more importantly, undelivered.
Jamie Quirk was not one to take things quietly. She was head of a powerful block association that gathers every morning, to discuss the state of affairs. She was not pleased. The temporary deliverer of the mail said there was a tray of mail missing and drove feverously off, in the direction of the Post Office, to locate aforementioned tray. She had returned, to deliver the junk mail, and said they (hopefully meaning the infamous mail police) were investigating.
Jamie called once, explained the situation, in a calm and direct Staten Island way, and expected something to be done directly also. She then informed the rest of her organization of her progress.
LATER ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON
There was no further delivery of mail. At 5pm, as detectives were later able to determine, another call was received at the Post Office. Jamie, once again, explained the situation. The person at the other end of the phone had no idea that this was going on! Jamie was told not to worry. We’re the Post Office”, said the official confidently and then she quoted the Greek historian, Herodotus, "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds".
SATURDAY
Every one on the quiet street was anxiously awaiting the mail. People were walking past their living room windows more than usual, peering out. Some kept walking out toward the mail box, walking slowly back, shaking their heads, empty-handed.
Jamie had to know what was going on. In addition to involving her husband, she kept calling other members and their husbands into getting involved. All the men wanted to do, was, well, that’s another story, but, none the less, they were being slowly dragged in.
Around 1:47pm, as the puzzle was being put together later, the white truck pulled onto the block. It crept up the block, up to each house, going up the hill, toward the sun. The sound of the engine grew louder, as it came down the hill. As it turned the corner, husbands ran down the hill, with Mr. Mac Murphy sustaining a rather large, purplish blacktop burn due to sliding on the slick pavement. The sudden stop of hitting the telephone pole didn’t help, as he managed to slide hip first into it. The medics have said he will be cleared to come home in a few days, after the wound has been cleaned and dressed. As a precaution, he is being flown by helicopter to Special Hospital For Surgery.
The Post Master was on his private 32 ft baby, coasting up down from Seaside towards Point Pleasant, unaware he was part of a National News Story. For Jamie, was not one to be trifled with. She was not Block President for nothing. And she had an army behind her. When her husband went to work, so did she.
She called the women and their families over for a BBQ. Her plan was to wine and dine them, as her prowess in the kitchen was legendary. She called up a few baby sitters, so the parents could listen, as she told them of the next move in the chess match, and the ultimate goal. To get the mail, and the legendary school letter which held the promise of creative learning and endless discussions over homework, such as why do we have so much, why can’t I do it later, why do my teachers hate me, and the ever famous, but so and so mom’s says she doesn’t have to finish it all, why then oh why I do I. But that’s another story.
A few of the husbands, Air, Sky, The Kid brought over their favorite liquid lubrications, which should never be mixed together, and Jamie, being a former mixologist at Studio 54, was cooking up Fuzzy Navels, Slo Gin Fizzes, and Alabama Slammers. By dusk, the crowd, which grew to include the parents of the surrounding blocks, do what unruly crowds do, when faced with such a crisis in the lives of their precious kids.
They went into garages and into their sheds. They raided patios and decks. They headed toward Target, Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Lowe’s and Home Depot. They headed to local hardware stores, who all believed that Christmas had come in August. And they bought, took, stole, and acquired all the Tiki torches and pitch forks in the land. And they headed down the block together like never before, to the Post Office they go. Also lost in all of this, was the voice of reason.
SUNDAY MORNING
The road would have to be closed till morning, due to the massive clean up. The Sheriff wanted to ask for volunteers, but most of the possible recruits were lying on the ground, soaking wet, face down, in the mud, handcuffed and didn’t seem inclined to help. A few were over by the ambulances, being treated for various scrapes and abrasions. Sally Jenkins was bring treated for broken ribs, as the force of the water through the fire hose caused her to fly into The Kid, who slammed into a parked car, where he injured his back. He was lying in the ambulance, helping himself to the Nitrous Oxide they had taken instead of the oxygen tank.
The pitch forks were stacked in piles and burned by the few torches still let. The rest lie smoldering on the battlefield. It was a rather easy victory for the Police. A few smart parents dropped their torches and ran when they were asked tp stand down by the 6ft 7inc, former starting offensive tackle for the local football team and most intimidating officer on the force. The rest chanting, “We want our bloody school letters”, kept marching. The shit hit the fan when Jamie, who had had enough with being “madam-ed” by Chief of Police Tinkler, lit his uniform jacket on fire, by putting the touch to the back of it. Fire Marshall Bill turned the hoses on The Chief and Jamie. Then the gathered throng rushed forward with all the calm and rational thinking of a European Soccer crowd.
As there was no damage done to the facility, or any officer harmed, except for the Chief who is recovering from second degree ass-burns and has to sit on a do-nut for the next 6 weeks. No charges were filed, however Jamie was stripped of her title and cannot even participate in the school annual Baking Cookoff and Sale. Thus, did die her plans to storm the Offices of the Superintendent and all schools, while chanting,
“We don't need no education
We dont need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.”
And all of this happened to avoid interaction with the taxpayers and a mistake, since the mail tray was found; it was switched with a tray of outgoing mail and went back to a central facility. It was delivered, on time, to each home early Monday afternoon.
No comments:
Post a Comment