Damage Control

      LAKE VERNOR - The Lake Vernor Music & Arts & Wheero Festival was history and I was afraid I might be, too. I sat in the Halfmast Tavern facing the Lake Vernor Disgruntled Citizens Committee. They, in turn sat in a semi-circle facing me and there wasn't a soft eye in the crowd. I didn't need to look at them to know what the problem was.
     The "Festival" had been a total disaster and they were going to lay the blame squarely on my shoulders. The Spanish Inquisition looked to be a Tupperware party by comparison. Lake Vernor Mayor Ricardo Whitehead paced back and forth behind the seated board, head down and hands clasped firmly behind his back. Suddenly he spun on his heels, pointed a finger at me and screamed," J'accuse!"
     "I ain't neither no jackass," I said. But a quick glance at the committee members' faces told me that if a vote was taken on the matter I didn't have a pig's chance at a bacon festival. I decided to take the offensive.
     Unfortunately the only door to the Halfmast was being guarded by Lou L.N. McTavish, accountant and security force for the Grumpy Bachelor International Cartel and World-Wide Mega-Monopoly, Ltd. So I went back to my seat to face the music.
     "What's the matter with everyone," I said. "The Festival was a success wasn't it? I mean nobody died, right?" And they didn't. That's what qualifies as a good time in Lake Vernor.
     "Ha!," came the retort. It was Cujo Mike and he looked like he was ready to burst into flame (something he'd been trying to do all his life). "Sure it was a success. Too much of a success," he said, voice quavering.
     "What do you mean by that?" I shot back inflicting a flesh wound on his arm.
     "People," wailed Cujo, "People came from all over the place. There were people everywhere! On the sidewalks, in the shops! One of them even had breakfast at the Code 4 Cafe!"
     It was true, I couldn't deny it. A family had come down for the day from Jethro Junction and an elderly couple from the rest home over in Quaalude Corners had actually stayed overnight. Having strangers wandering around town always upsets the sedate citizenry of Lake Vernor. But I still couldn't see why I was on the carpet, in this case sawdust since we were in the Halfmast.
     West Sandusky Fred stood up and in his quiet, gentle voice said, "Grump, you're a dead man."
     "What's the problem," I said "Why is this MY fault."
     Mayor Whitehead finally got around to putting his finger down and explained it to me.     "Grumps, Our quiet little town with it's quiet little festival to drunkenness was invaded by foreigners. They drank our water and touched our things. They breathed our air and absorbed our sunlight. And it's your fault. You are the one who wrote about the festival on your web page. You are the one who let the whole world know about the Lake Vernor Music & Art & Wheero Festival and opened the floodgates. You despoiled our fine little town."
     I said," My web page! Are you kidding? Nobody reads that. Have you seen the statistics lately? Whenever I log on the counter shows one more visitor than it did the last time. In fact, I look at the page so infrequently anymore that I had to poke the counter a couple of times to wake it up the last time I went there."
     I could see that I was getting through to the committee. There were little wisps of smoke coming out of their ears. That meant they were thinking. I seized this rare opportunity and plunged full speed ahead.
     "I actually talked to the family from Jethro Junction (small gasps from the crowd) and they said they were looking for Niagara Falls. Evidently they took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Lake Vernor by mistake." Several of the committee started shaking their heads in agreement. They knew that being in Lake Vernor was a mistake for anybody, even the citizens.
     "And." I continued, "I am pretty sure the old couple from Quaalude Corners just wandered away from the home. The old gent asked me if President Truman had arrived yet. I told him that he hadn't but everybody was waiting for him down by the lake."
     There was now a very distinct haze floating over the committee's heads. I knew I was making progress. "And just to make sure, I gave all our visitors some free samples of Wheero. As I speak, I imagine they are all waking up with terrific hangovers on one of Jupiter's moons."     
     At this point, Mack Murphy stood up to speak. As was his habit before he spoke he tried to hitch his thumbs in his belt. This was a mistake because he always wears suspenders. After we picked Mack up off the floor and bandaged his cuts he stood up again and said, "As Ah was gonna say afore Ah so rudely innerupted mahself; Grumps, yer off th' hook this time, son. We jes gonna havta take yore werd fer it. Mostly 'cause mos uv us don't unnerstan mos uv the werds yer usin' But there warn't rilly no harm dun, leas' not much. With all th' 'citment over the ferrin in-vasion we got a day's late start on drinkin th' Wheero but none uv us woke up until yeserday anyhow. So we ain't gonna blame ya fer wha' happened, leas' not in publik. But, son, lemme giv' y'all a li'l ad-vice. Iffen ah was yew, I purty well sure would be flushin' mah toilet by remote control fer 'bout a week. Ya hear?"

    NEXT TIME: Lake Vernor's struggle to get back to its subnormal way of life.

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