Absolutely Safe

In this perfect moment, imagine the mayor, of a small city, activating the emergency sirens, for every little breeze that blows, because they could turn into bad weather..."even a tornado". Even if he is prone to over-react, he means well, and the folks love him so much, they keep re-electing him...'"he keeps us safe". This is the way it's been, for as long as anyone can remember.

Then, one day, during the annual "Harvest Festival", the wind picked up (ever so slightly), and just as before, the mayor quickly activated the sirens..."because it's better to be safe, than sorry, you know? Besides, they're my people. I'm responsible for keeping them absolutely safe...no matter what!"

But a strange thing happened. Or rather, a strange no-thing happened. No one ran to their houses. No one screamed, and no one gathered their children, frantically looking for shelter. No one cried "tornado" or "avalanche" (people had actually yelled this, in the past, even though the city was flat as a pancake). 

Nope. None of it. The sirens wailed and the mayor ran around, from window to window (he made sure his office had windows, facing every direction), getting more and more frantic. "Where is everyone? They should be running for their homes. They should be hiding in the conveniently located shelters, I've placed all over town." 

Still, no one was rushing anywhere. Not a single worried soul was seen yelling "tornado" (or "avalanche", for that matter). No one was spotted, running frantically after their children, or pushing others into shelters. This made the mayor even more frantic. So, he grabbed his hard hat, red safety sash, and bullhorn and headed out into the "Proto-Storm" (his word, not mine). 

When he got outside, the wind had picked up (what you and I might call a breeze), and still, the people ignored the sirens. So, he ran, as fast as he could,to the Harvest Festival (even though his car was still running, back at the office)."I have to warn them, save them from themselves," he said, between gasps. He ran on, sped by his worry, until he (finally) could see his people...ignoring his sirens. 

Stopping only to catch his breath, he turned the bullhorn on, and started cajoling them to make for their homes and the shelters. When cajoling did not work, he laid on the guilt, "Think of the children. Think of yourselves. Think of me, for goodness sakes. Who will I be mayor of, if you all die some horrible death?" 

Then, because no one was paying attention, he turned to berating them (He really didn't want to, but felt that he had no choice. That's what he told me later.), saying things like (and remember he was embarrassed about it all, later), "Are you all dumb? What's the matter with you, don't you hear the sirens? Can't you see that this is a Class 1 Proto-Storm? THIS COULD TURN INTO A TORNADO, PEOPLE!!!"

Even after all of that...nothing. Even after making himself red in the face, and saying those unsavory things (he really did hate saying them). Nothing. And here's why (Are you ready for this?): They couldn't hear any of it. None of it. The planning committee had hired four bands, to play, this year, and through some miscommunication, they were hired to all play...at the same time.(These things happen.)

Imagine, if you will, a mariachi band, a reggae band, a hair-metal band, and a gospel choir...all performing, at the same time...on four different stages, that were so close, they could wave to each other. Imagine the cacophony (look it up, if you need to) and the harmony and the sheer crazy brilliance of all those bands playing at the same time. (Go on, we've got time. Really imagine it...it was great, really.)

Now, imagine, added to all that..uhh...music, the sounds of the midway, and the ferries wheel, and the tilt-a-whirl, and the...you get the picture. It was loud, and the people were having the best time, they ever had. Teenagers were falling in love, old folks were jamming out, parents were dancing, and no one was freaking out. All of this, despite the sirens and the mayor, red-faced, and jumping up and down. 

At one point, a little girl happened to look in the direction, of the mayor, and asked her mommy, "Mommy, why is the mayor all red-faced and jumping up and down, like that?" The mommy looked, to where she was pointing, and said, "Honey, the mayor obviously likes hair-metal. I would've never guessed that. Hmmm." They waved at the mayor, then made their way to the corn-dog stand.(Mmmm...corn-dogs...)

As the afternoon turned into night, the breeze...er...uhh....the Class 1 Proto-Storm (yes, I'm being a smarty-pants) died out, and the mayor passed out, from exhaustion, and the music played on, and lights came on, and people ate funnel cakes, and had their fortunes told (none of which involved tornadoes or avalanches...except for the Smith boy, but he was always kind of reckless). 

Later, when the music was coming to a close, folks noticed a very faint siren sound, and there was a moment of panic (conditioning, you know?). There was a little running around, some minor freaking out, some gathering of children, but it all stopped, when everyone saw the mayor, sleeping on a parkbench. If the mayor wasn't worried, why should they? Right?

They gathered up their children, stole their last kisses, danced one more dance, ate one last funnel-cake, said their "Good night!"s, and headed to their homes. Someone gave the mayor, a ride to his home, and everyone slept really, really well, that night (except the mayor, who thought he felt a little wind, as he was entering his home). 

The next morning, the paper ran a story, at the bottom of Page 2, about a tornado, that had touched down, about 50 miles away, and a bizarre avalanche, in the next town over. But who reads the bottom of Page 2? (Well, except the mayor, of course.)