Posted by: stillironic | January 3, 2010

South of the Border University—11

Before Christmas, Gregor had started to fantasize about the violent demise of Roland Roscoe. The plastic iceberg the university was dedicating to Dr. Solomon R. Metzger had exploded as Roscoe stood next to it while leading the dedication ceremony.

Ice Floes Don’t Whiz

Gregor was imagining Roscoe’s hand arcing across the sky. Would it fall and plop onto the ground. Or would it spin like a pinwheel. Roscoe’s fat head would split open like a pumpkin. Just as Gregor decided that Roscoe would probably be reduced to unrecognizable bits and pieces, Roscoe himself called on the phone. He wanted to change the way the ice floe mascot entered the football field right before the game and needed help from the groundskeepers.

It would be more dramatic, Roscoe said at a meeting later that day, for the ice floe to enter from the north side of the field instead of the south. South had been chosen because the ground was flat; grounds-keeping had built a shed on that side for storing the big motorized flatbed truck.

North of the field was a hill. Roscoe wanted the ice floe to be driven down the hill, where it would gain momentum and whiz onto the field to great fanfare. Instead of the band playing the Mighty Ice Floe fight song, a recording of the Ride of the Valkyries would be blasted through loudspeakers.

“Except ice floes don’t whiz,” Gregor said, “they drift.”

“Who cares?” Roscoe argued. “If I want flip flops, it’ll do flip flops.”

© 2010 by Virginia Gerhart

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