Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write for the HUMOR Genre (10/09/14)
- TITLE: Another One for The Scrap Book
By Pauline Carruthers
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It hadn‘t been a great weekend, though laughter had been predominant as we had made the best of what we had. Back home we left the train station, heading for the car park, chatting and laughing and, as usual, David exaggerating the funniest aspects of our weekend away. Catching a glimpse of David’s horrified expression, my first instinct was to laugh at the scene unfolding before us. I would have laughed if the man in the yellow hard hat and bright red face had not been advancing menacingly, as fast as his rotund shape allowed.
Arriving at our hotel late on Friday evening David had commented,
“Small room, did you book us into a cell?”
I had reminded him of the time he booked us a weekend away at a Christian Family Conference and gale force winds had blown the main marquee over the north sea. Illuminated signs had dangled precariously from buildings and our chalet had flooded with icy water in the night. I distinctly remembered the shocked yell as his feet unexpectedly hit the icy water.
The man in the yellow hard hat and red face continued towards us, gesticulating wildly. His words, though hitting the barrier of distance, spluttered venom. His whole body emanating fury. My imagination kicked in, cladding him in buckskins and stetson hat, a menacing gun toting holster slung loosely at his side.
On the Saturday of our weekend away we had been disappointed when the West End show hadn’t been quite what we had been expecting. And being unable to find a restaurant that wasn’t fully booked up, what was intended to have been a leisurely dinner had been a late night take-away, sitting on a bench in the centre of London. Back in our cell-sized room in the hotel we had settled to sleep. Shortly after 1pm the rattle and clang of rubbish bins being emptied down in the street below had caught us unawares, causing David to slide from the nylon covered plastic mattress of the bed onto the floor. Later we discovered that the sound of road drills and sledge hammers could rise up to the seventh floor and filter noisily through closed, double glazed windows. I closed my eyes and thanked the Lord that tomorrow we would be sleeping in our own bed again.
The rotund man in the yellow hard hat and red face, wearing imaginary buckskins and stetson and toting his imaginary gun filled holster, was advancing. Whilst my ears blocked out his yelled profanities my eyes took in the scene before us. The station car park where we had left our car two days ago, was alive with huge diggers noisily gouging out the concrete. Yellow dumper trucks rampaged backwards and forwards, whilst high cranes stood idly by. Men in yellow hard hats and black overalls buzzed like swarming bees, work ceasing as they downed tools in synchronised harmony. All eyes on us. Bang in the middle of the organised chaos, on an untouched slab of concrete, resplendent as a celebrity in its silver grey splendour, stood our aged Saab. Its wheels barely stable on the raised dais that set it apart from the surrounding rubble. A man in a red hard hat and yellow overalls beckoned us to follow him, pointing out that the car park had been closed for renovation. David explained that we didn’t normally use the car park so had no idea of the closure. Workmen were standing around, not one attempting to curtail the laughter at our obvious embarrassment. The rotund man in the yellow hard hat and red face continued to bluster on. Something about another hour and the Saab would have been craned out and laid to rest in the scrap yard.
“Oh Lord”, I prayed. “How are You going to get us out of this one.”
Attempting nonchalance, feeling ridiculous, we climbed up onto the raised concrete as instructed, hanging onto the doors as we eased ourselves into the car in in a grossly undignified manner.
“Please Lord let it start first time.”
The Saab bumped down onto the rubble, coming to rest behind the procession of men in yellow hard hats, who proceeded to lead us ceremoniously out of the car park, amidst the cheers and clapping of amused bystanders. The sound of the rotund man in the yellow hard hat and red face faded into the distance as we rounded the first corner, picked up speed and headed home.
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