A continuing tale of life in the boonies
Flying saucer special edition
A greatly respected member of the teaching profession in Farmington has seen a flying saucer on New Durham Ridge. Farmington Corner is proud to rush you this exclusive conference call interview!
Self: (in tones of enormous deference) Good evening, and may I, on behalf of Farmington Corner, offer congratulations on your astonishing piece of luck, Mrs. Ė
Alarmed voice: Donít you dare print my name in Farmington Corner! Why am I consigned to this disreputable section of the newspaper? I demand to be taken seriously and accorded a better spot.
Editor (apologetically): Iím terribly sorry, but front page space is at a premium this week Ö this column is the only room left. But donít worry, Iíll keep my eye on him.
Self (injured): Farmington Corner is a beacon of investigative journalism. It approaches the paranormal and the highly unlikely with unbiased, open-minded inquisitiveness. I would refer you to the column on Vice President Henry Wilson the ghostly Senatorial bather, the report on Lyndon Laroucheís plans to colonize Mars, the coverage devoted to Ö
Editor: Just get on with it!
Self: Okay, already. Could you kindly describe your experience, Mrs. Anonymous?
Voice (cautiously): All right. But just one tiny snigger out of you and Iím hanging up this phone.
Gullible readership: Donít pay no mind to him. We believe you, Mrs. A. Tell us what you saw.
Mrs. A. (appeased): Well, I was driving along Ridge Top Road one evening back in August when Ė
Readership: August? August! This is a bit of stale old news!
Mrs. A. (in crushed tones): But Iíve never told anyone about it yet, at least not publicly.
Self (triumphantly): See! Never trust the readership. A fickler bunch youíll never find. Theyíre only fascinated by things a few hours old. Shock, horror, gossip, rumor, scientific fact, medical breakthrough, war, famine, spaceship sighting Ö theyíre not fussy as long as itís still warm.
Editor: Donít you dare insult the readership. Weíre a paid paper now, in case youíve forgotten. Readership, we salute you!
Self: Are you still there, Mrs. A.? Proceed with your tale. We left you driving on Ridge Top Road, I believe.
Mrs. A. (testily): This is not a tale, this is an account. It was 8:30 p.m., just after dusk. I thought it was a plane at first, right over Mr. Averyís house. I said, "Oh! Itís going to crash," but it was hovering.
Self: What did this hovering item look like?
Mrs. A. It was about 60 feet long, saucer-shaped, and it had three lights on the side, like portholes. It was shining a light over the ground as if it was looking for something.
Self: Come to think, I havenít seen Roger Avery for weeks and weeks. Did he get sucked up? Heís some sort of bio-genetic engineer, isnít he?
Mrs. A.: I donít know. Iíve never met him, but I know he has a laboratory or something like that.
Self: Yup! And he gets his hair cut at Sandyís Coiffures.
Editor: What has that got to do with anything? Carry on, Mrs. A.
Mrs. A.: I rolled down the window of my car to listen. There was no sound and then Ö ZOOOP Ö it took off up north and disappeared fast. Then I went home and told my husband Iíd seen a U.F.O.
Royce Hodgdon: When you looked through the porthole, could you see any stoves or freezers on board?
Town Attorney Don Whittum: Mr. Hodgdon, are you seriously suggesting to this court that aliens are surreptitiously dumping kitchen appliances on your property as a nocturnal jape?
Royce (with great passion): Have you got a better explanation of how these things pile up?
Judge Carignan (banging gavel): I must warn the witness Ė
Editor: Gentlemen, gentlemen. Iím going to have to cut this legal discussion short.
Self: Thank you, Editor, and indeed, you too, Mrs. A. Your identity is safe with me. And to wrap up, if any reader should see a spaceship, or Mr. Roger Avery, or an alien life form dumping off stoves and freezers at Royceís under cover of darkness, please speed a message to Unsolved Mysteries c/o Farmington Corner at 1-603-755-2926 within six months of the occurrence.
Strange Craft II
Congratulations are due to Mr. Bubber Haycock on the occasion of his completing work on a large (albeit ungainly) vehicle, painted a mysterious black, and displaying the following legend prominently on its wooden sides: HOG HAULER.
So eye-catching a motorized craft is this that no less a figure than Police Chief Barry Carr has been spotted taking a photograph of it. While Bubberís stated purpose is "to haul Harleys down to Daytona," the chief obviously sees the potential of a similar model hauling drunks down to the County Farm.
Strange Lights II
Jean Davenhall of Farmington Business Association reminds readers that the Christmas Light Decorating Contest is upon us again. The entry deadline is Dec. 17, entry forms are at Barrettís 5 & 10, Osgood Pharmacy, Liberty Insurance and, yes, Davenhallís. Judging is set for the night of Dec. 19, and is on the tried and true 100-point system: 50 points for originality, 25 points for design and 25 points for continuity of theme.
Sounds to me like an illuminated Leaning Tower of Freeza could scoop up the $100 first prize. Meanwhile, check out Tom Hardingís flashing showboat on Route 11. The author of the famous one-liner rebuff, "We got suits!" can now truly declare "We got lights!"
December 10, 1992
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