Sunday, March 15, 2009
One day, a large man appeared in the town square down the street from the local McDonald's where he had just eaten a breakfast special. Free coffee refill in hand, he mounted the soapbox put in the square for anyone wanting to use it. Some said the man was large because he wore many layers of clothing for our devastating winter. Others said this was not the case because of the thickness of his neck and head. He claimed his name was Clark Kentinger, or something like that. Everyone knew it was a phony name, but they gave him a listen. While he spoke with his echo-chamber-like voice, the man bounced from side to side, as if confined against his will inside an isolation booth saved from a 50s television game show where one contestant is asked questions and the other is not supposed to hear until it is his or her turn. The bouncing, some guessed, was a code, sending messages to others in isolation booths throughout the land. In this way, the large man is able to communicate messages unspoken concerning topics agreed to be off limits in the town and in surrounding towns. At the end of the day, the large man bounded out of town, leaving coffee stains on the soapbox surface, and has not been heard from for at least a day, an eternity on these media-savvy times. The effects of his bouncing about in our town are still felt, especially among fans who snigger within their own individual isolation booths. These isolation booths are hard to carry around and I feel sorry for those who force themselves into them. Sometimes, when voicing opinions at morning coffee klatches, they have to speak up in order to be heard and it's hard on their vocal cords.