The Picnic: A Story
of Celery
By Pete Schulte
**The
story you are about to read is partially true. Though names have been changed,
the vegetable remains pristine.
The
D league women’s volleyball season ended with a picnic. It was a losing
season, yes, but the picnic went a long way to sooth any hurts. Two of the five
member team brought significant others. There was plenty of beer, cider, fruit,
cheese, and chips to go around. After all, who doesn’t love a picnic?
But
all good things come to an end, and when dusk approached one of the couples
called it quits. Marion and Boris gathered their things and said their
good-byes. Betty, the team’s captain, called to them. “Hey, why don’t you take
home some of this beer?”
Boris
politely declined Betty’s offer, but held up a plastic baggie filled with fresh
celery sticks. “Do you mind if I take home some of this celery instead? I
really love celery. In fact, they call me the celery man.”
“Take
all you want, celery man,” said Betty. “I bought tons at Costco.”
“Maybe
I should go home with you then?” Boris replied.
“Hey,
watch it, buster!” laughed Marion.
The
remaining players watched Boris and Marion walk away, but the two made it only
as far as the parking lot. From seemingly out of nowhere, a man leaped out
between the parked cars and confronted them with a gun. “Look, take what you
want,” said a panicked Boris. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“I
don’t want any trouble either,” said the gunman, calmly. “I just want the
celery. Just hand over the celery and nobody gets hurt. Got it?”
Boris
reluctantly parted with the baggie and the gunman took off like a rocket.
Marion, with Boris in tow, scurried back to the safety of the picnic. The other
players rose nervously as they saw looks of exasperation in the faces of their
friends.
“What’s
happened?” asked Betty.
“We
were robbed!” replied Marion.
“That’s
awful,” said Betty. “I mean, right here in the park.”
“But
we were lucky,” said Boris. “All he wanted was the celery. Imagine that,
robbing a guy of his celery?”
“I
think I’ve heard of that guy,” said Forrest, Betty’s husband. “They call him ‘The
Celery Kid.’ You really have to
watch yourself at picnics.”
“Well,
I hate to ask this,” said Boris to Betty, “but have you any more of the celery?
That evil doer really cleaned me out.”
Betty
turned over all the remaining celery to Boris while Forrest reported to the
police. Once Boris and Marion exited a second time, Betty remarked that years
ago someone would have gladly taken home all the beer and not cared a wit about
a bag of celery. “What’s next?” asked Betty to the gathered team, “A thief of
kale, ’The Kale Rider?’”
Santa
Fe highway was crowded in early evening, and the police were soon closing in on
The Celery Kid and his bright green getaway car. And though it went against his
every instinct, the kid tossed the celery out his window. Now he had nothing
left to lose and could afford to be reckless. And he did elude the police. He
rode on to rob and pillage again.
Responding
police officers did find the baggie along a ditch near Mineral Avenue. Officer
Pete raised his hand in caution. “Wait, don’t touch anything. It’s evidence.”
“Jeez,
Pete,” said officer Joe. “It’s just a bag of celery. Don’t make a federal case
of it.”
“Well,
in that case,” said officer Pete, “I’d like to take it home with me. I sure do
enjoy a good stalk of celery from time to time.”
“I
say we split it even,” said officer Joe. “I know my celery and this is good
stuff. Look at that color. Look at those lines.”
Officer
Pete and officer Joe divided the celery and took it home. Forrest took home the
beer while Betty and the others gathered the rest. Volleyball season was indeed
over, but not without a story to tell.
The
end.
