You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy!
The fact that a poor defenseless refrigerator is violently assaulted while minding its own business.
DATELINE: FRANKLIN, Tennessee.
According to police investigators, Tuesday evening, without provocation or warning, Mr. Sears, a 7 year old Kenmore product, was savagely and brutally beaten in his own home.
Witnesses to the unmerciful and senseless drive-by say an inexperienced and “know-it-all” teenager wheeled a mighty mastodon sized SUV into the garage and then lost control of her mind and her mother’s car in that order.
Witnesses say the young driver was acting like she had been driving all her life and not the five measley days that the permit in her handbag indicated. Witnesses close to the investigation tell “That’s Crazy” the teenager drove cock-eyed into the garage at a reckless rate of speed. The teen failed to judge much of anything, and impacted her own bicycle against a rear wall. The frame bent as did a tool cart that had been in the family for ages.
That’s when the mindless teen, for some unexplained reason, tossed the car into neutral and gunned all eight cylinders of the mighty mastodon.
With the engine roaring, the girl’s mother, in the passenger seat, was horrified. The engine was enormous and all encompassing, but to the young driver, with only 5 days experience, the red lining monster meant nothing.
For some reason, for some unknown, God forsaken, unbelievably crazy and inane reason, the girl dropped the gear shift into D.
Hmmmmm? I wonder what D stands for.
The car lurched forward at terrifying speed.
BLAMMMMMMM!
D stands for death and destruction and demolition and Daddy is gonna kick your Dimpled little ass.
Mr. Sears didn’t stand a chance. The mastodon rammed its metallic bumper through his barrel chested door like a knife through tin foil. The collision shattered Mr. Sears plastic frame and tore his door completely off. Food spilled out of his cooling belly. Car parts and refrigerator chunks dropped to the dusty garage floor like so much blood spatter at a crime scene.If this was an episode of CSI Miami, the entire cast would be swabbing my garage looking for clues. Through a Golden hue of sunset or sunrise, Horatio Caine and his detectives would quickly sift through the detritis trying to explain the unexplainable. In the glow of a purple light, Horation would say; “Somewhere out there, is a meniacal, vehicular killer who demolishes, who destroys, and then laughs about it on her facebook account. This kind of criminally insensitive behavior must be dealt with swiftly in the name of all appliances everywhere.”
More on swift justice in a moment, but first…
An appliance remembered. Perhaps not for what he did, but perhaps for what he didn’t do. He never broke, or stopped working or complained. He never got jealous by the shiny double door fancy fridge upstairs surrounded by hardwood floors and granite counter tops.
By all accounts, Mr. Sears was a good electronic component, never complaining about his role as the garage refrigerator. There is no record of Mr. Sears ever not working. His settings were steadfast on cold or coldest. He didn’t mind working in the dark. He didn’t mind working in the broiler of summer where he protected the food like a mother hen, keeping ice cream icy and cold pizza cold. In the frozen tundra of winter, he kept food fresh, like a father penguin nursing an egg to life.
Though Mr. Sears was relegated to the dark recesses of the garage, often filled with carbon monoxide and mice scurrying around his roller – feet, Mr. Sears did his job and never complained.
We checked with the Williamson County Sheriff’s Office and Mrs. Sears, a rotund Shop-Vac on a nearby shelf, never once called to report domestic unrest. By all accounts the two electronic appliances shared 220 volts of love and lived a quiet garage like existence.
Now to the suspect. She’s five foot-one in heels. Her hair is blonde, worn wildy about her face. Her smile is pearly white, with just a twinge of anarchy. Her eyes are crystal clear blue, like an arctic wolf. And like the nomadic predator, her eyes are a window into the soul where the truth is revealed as somewhat problematic. Like planets revolve a sun, the suspect’s auroa revolves around a brain that is frighteningly bright, with so much potential, universities have asked to follow its growth. But this brain is the nucleus furnace of a spirit that is so young, so unfocused that it can actually convince the suspect that 5 days of driving makes someone an expert. Like a back alley drug transaction, the teenagers super brain actually tells the young driver,”you don’t need to listen to your mother. What does she know?”
Aided by this super brain, the little girl suspect with the wolf eyes fooled the DMV. 30 questions and you get a driver’s permit? No problem. Worse yet, the suspect fooled her parents into thinking she was ready to get behind the wheel of a rolling killing machine.
Then, when pandemonium was red lining at the moment of truth, the flaxen haired suspect decided that no matter what her mother said, no matter how many times her parental co-pilot screamed “No, No, No.” That really meant do whatever the hell you want to do, because you are the center of the teenage universe.
Well, now the trust is gone and Mr. Sears is dead. I have told this little suspect that she had better start babysitting around the neighborhood to raise funds for his funeral. I am not real happy about having to replace Mr. Sears. He was like a respected member of the family. At least when I told Mr. Sears NO, he knew what No meant.
So the next time you open your crisper, say a little prayer for Mr. Sears. Think of him as I roll him to the curb this Friday in a non-denominational ceremony that is closed to the media.
Mr. Sears. He was cool, even coolest, and he will be missed.
Somewhere in appliance heaven he is casting a dubious fridge light on the little teenage girl who thinks she knows everything.
If Mr. Sears was alive today, he would tell the crazed driver this: Use the death of an appliance as a wake up call. You better learn that people die faster than refrigerators and the victims can’t just be replaced and rolled to the curb.
You listening to me little girl. This is your one and only wake up call!
And that is Crazy!