A Tale of Hunger and Heroism

The journey is over - I have made it to the great valley. Over the past two days I drove a wagon-train of our belongings across the great plains from Madison to Provo. I arrived in Utah early Wednesday morning in a half-delirious state. After running several tests, doctors diagnosed me as suffering from a combination of allergies, overexhaustion, and Obama-fatigue.

Thankfully, the trip was mostly uneventful. With a Penske moving van as my faithful steed I enjoyed good weather untill hitting a few thunderstorms in Nebraska, causing me to stay the night in the tiny hamlet of York. The road was lonely - my only companion being a bag of Brach's chocolate covered raisins given to me in Madison by a considerate friend. We were quite a team, those raisins and I, until tragedy stuck on the north fork of the Platte river. As we meandered through a construction zone the truck hit a pothole, sending my beautiful blue Brach's bag bouncing out of the cupholder and down underneath the passengers seat. Since the cab was packed with household items that wouldn't fit in the cargo hold, it proved impossible to retrieve the raisins while steering the truck.

They were trapped.

I tried to forget about it. After all, I could buy another bag at the next town. But the thought of all that chocolatey goodness melting on the floor of the cab, and possibly getting on our HP printer, plagued my thoughts mile after mile, like a splinter in my brain - driving me mad. I knew I must take action. After pulling the truck over to the side of the road I began reaching down for the raisins, to no avail. I tried approaching the stranded victims from the passenger door, but quickly realized this could trigger an avalanche of televisions, shoes, footballs, lamp shades, and other sundry items. The situation seemed hopeless, my raisins destined for the dustbin of history. Despite the hopeless situation, I counseled them to stay alive - I would find them.

They say that when humans are confronted with intense trauma they are often capable of either superhuman strength or flashes of inspiration. Such was my good fortune on that fateful day. Just when all seemed lost, and I was preparing to consign my raisins to their floor-mat tomb, I saw my opportunity. The island separating the passenger foot-spaces had a cover on it. By removing this plastic shield I created a passageway of life, which I used to reach through the maze of household items and retrieve my beloved snack.

Where once there had been only defeat and hunger, there was now hope and sustenance. The raisins returned to their place of prominence on the dash below the radio.

Then I ate them.