Hold the presses! Here's a hot tip on the helicopter goings-on over the Mansion on Saturday night.
Apparently, a girl from the high school that my boys should be attending rather than slurping off the Newmentia teat as a favor to one Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, teacher, was injured in a 4-wheeler accident Saturday night, and air-lifted to a city hospital. I hope this day finds her on the mend, and proud of herself for planting another conspiracy theory into Mrs. HM's head.
Farmer H figured out the place it happened. It's just down the blacktop road from the mailboxes. They had a homemade sign by their personal low-water bridge, advertising their annual pig roast. I can see the helicopter pilots' confusion. The cloud ceiling was quite low, so they had to fly under it, I imagine. And we have two cleared fields, and dusk-to-dawn lights by the Mansion and the BARn. So the pilots probably flew over looking for the accident scene. The fact that #1 and his guest were running out into the field, looking up at the helicopter, probably did not help matters.
Don't think I found this scoop in the local paper, or on the radio, or on a local news channel. Nope. I was enlightened at the teacher lunch table. Teachers know everything. None of them live in my neck of Hillmomba. But they knew the facts, Jack. It's our business. We are the eyes and ears of society.
If you want information to be dispersed, you can telegraph, telephone, or TELL A TEACHER!
5 comments:
And why do teachers leap onto bits of gossip and shards of excitement like dogs onto meat-filled napkins?
They're trapped all day in a room full of kids. They're desperate to cling to anything--anything--that takes them away from their hellish existence for even a fleeting moment.
By the way, did you hear what that Kardashian girl did today? Ooowee!
Don't tell me that Hick doesn't have a CB scanner or whatever those things are that scan the radio channels and keeps everyone updated on the latest tragedies, travasties and tasty tidbits of treachery.
Sioux,
That's all we have left. The gossip.
Who is this Kardashian lass of whom you speak? Surely you are not trying to make an innocent wallflower the butt of a joke!
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knancy,
All right. I won't tell you. Farmer H does indeed have a scanner. I think it used to belong to my dad. Dad had it on the fireplace thingamajig next to his recliner, and turned it on every night. Farmer H keeps it in his safe room.
That's a concrete room built to house his gun collection, but which instead houses Johnny West horses and people from my childhood, and flea market oddities, and a fake rolltop desk. We rush in there when tornadoes whirl overhead, and try to hear if we're dead yet.
I get all my local gossip from he who tows. He knows all the good stuff!
Kathy,
He must have been towing some teachers.
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