Tail of Prague dog and other summer detours
| Thursday, Jul 02 2009 10:16 PM
Last Updated Thursday, Jul 02 2009 10:16 PM
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I might have told the story of the time, years ago, that the wife and I were so poor we decided to forego our monthly trip to the salon and instead cut each other's hair with sewing scissors. I proved to be a pretty bad hair stylist, but she was worse, and by the time we were finished we looked like we'd been in a tragic lawnmower accident. The girls down at Supercuts got a good laugh out of it, and even though we really could have used the $24, we laughed too.
Or I might have told the story of the time I had my wisdom teeth pulled and the dental surgeon sent me home with an admonition: Take care of your stitches. But with all of those cotton balls in my mouth, I couldn't help but talk funny, and when I attempted to convey the surgeon's concern, the wife fell on the floor in spasms of giddiness. Her giggles were contagious (maybe the pain medication contributed) and within minutes, I was spitting out stitches.
But, as I consider how I might have responded to the theme of the Kern County Fair's Author's Corner nonfiction competition ("Describe the funniest thing you've ever seen") I keep going back to the legend of the Prague Dog.
But first, an explanation: Kern County Fair catalogues should start showing up in mailboxes this week. If you faithfully show goats, carve gourds or cook with Spam, you probably already know this. But if, like me, you're utterly without talent in those areas, but still admire the county fair, you might consider the Author's Corner, which, as chairman, I am shamelessly pitching to you now.
Think of it as a reason to reactivate brains soddened by summer doldrums. Get up, get yourself an iced tea and stagger over to the Selectric. Try to remember a funny moment. Or take on the nonfiction essay: "What would you do if you could go back in time and reexperience an event in your life?"
Don't like being told what to write? The short story (fiction) and poetry categories have open themes. The only real limitation is that entries must be typewritten and not exceed one side of an 81/2 by 11 sheet of paper. Check the catalogue to see if I've forgotten any other requirements, like the due date (Sept. 1, as I recall).
If I could enter (I'm ineligible) I'd write about my foreign adventure.
It was June 2000, and we had piled our bags on the platform of the main Prague train station, which like everything else in the Czech capital is sooty and dark and ancient and mysterious. The train wasn't scheduled to leave the station for another 10 or 15 minutes. Determined to maximize every moment, I declared that I simply had to have a photograph of a famous statue near the station that I'd read about in a travel book: a monument to the Red Army featuring a Czech soldier kissing a much larger Russian soldier in gratitude for having liberated the city from capitalistic oppression. The Czech people hate the statue, and for more than one reason.
So I dashed off, camera in hand, not exactly sure where I was going. I ran a complete circle around the train station, pausing at one point to decipher a sign with my phrase book: Keep off the grass. Too late, I thought as I traipsed across the lawn, the Ugly American in search of a statue he would never find.
Shortly after our Berlin-bound train pulled out of the station I realized I was also the Stinky American: I had managed to inadvertently collect the leavings of a post-Communistic canine. I had trampled across fresh droppings in my hiking boots, and nothing short of a high-pressure hose was going to remove the residue from my waffle-style soles.
No such hose would be available during the 41/2-hour trip.
Our train car was a lively one, full of energetic Americans, Swedes and Brits, but their good humor evaporated once they realized that Prague Dog would be with them for the rest of the day.
Eventually, I eased the ordeal by placing my shoes outside the car's back door, on the connection platform. It became a funny story only several hours later, some time after my evening shower.
Moral of the story: Keeping off the grass is not just in the interests of the grass.
OK, your turn. It's free to enter. Make us laugh. Or you can always carve a gourd.
E-mail Robert Price at rprice@bakersfield.com. He's also at www.stubblebuzz.com and twitter.com/stubblebuzz.
