Saturday's Storyteller: "The day the rally happened, I knew the world was changed forever."
by Belinda Roddie
What? That pun too cheesy for ya? Well, I don't give edam. Because the Council Of Cheese Lovers had convened on the city, waving signs duct taped to yardsticks and smelling like the finest aged confections in the world - and they meant business. To Hell with the white nationalists wearing khaki pants and carrying tiki torches. No thanks, antifa militants with their bandanas and gas masks. This once ragtag team of Swiss enthusiasts and mozzarella maniacs was now a mighty organization with immense public support and sway - and they were legendairy!
Granted, I was watching this all from my ten story apartment, which I was surprisingly able to afford given my corporate job, and I stared out my window as everyone from old men wearing cheesehead hats (like Green Bay Packers fans) to people dressed up like cows danced and screamed in the city plaza. Also, this wasn't some huge city from New York - just the downtown of a suburb in North California. But hey, every movement had to start somewhere, and this was the place.
The moment my toaster dinged, signifying my grilled cheese was ready, was the moment the police convened. I had never seen so much cheese whiz sprayed into the air. The entire place must have smelled like cheddar by the time the riot was over. They didn't even get to their homage of G.K. Chesterton - you know, the guy who said that poets have been mysteriously silent about the subject of cheese? And an homage that would have been read by the renowned Brie zealot Maxwell vonn Hurstmeiser, no less.
I don't know if that was his real name. He was probably called Bob during Thanksgiving.
As the heroes of the hour dispersed and scattered, I bit into my grilled cheese and savored the melted American gooeyness. One day more, my compatriots. One day more.
We were destined for grateness.
This week's prompt was provided by Alex Telander.
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