Column: Tales from Exit 22, by Al Batt

One day God looked down at Earth and saw all the bad behavior taking place.

He sent an angel to Earth and asked him to bring back a report on the conduct of humans.

When the angel returned, he told God, “It is bad on Earth. Ninety percent of the people are misbehaving. Only ten percent are being good.”

God considered the news and decided to send another angel to Earth for a second opinion. When that angel returned to Heaven, she said to God, “It’s true. The Earth is in decline. Ninety percent are misbehaving, ten percent are being good.”

God wasn’t pleased. He emailed the ten percent who were being good and offered them encouragement to remain steadfast in their good work.

Do you know what the email said?

No? I was just asking. I didn’t get one either.

I was at a meeting recently when someone complained to all with working ears about how unfair life is. You would have thought it was his birthday party and someone else was blowing out the candles.

He moaned, “Why is this happening to me? I’ve been good.”

He was feeling that way because the March Madness basketball tournament was not going as he had filled in the brackets. He was unhappy because he would not be winning the contest. We all feel that life is unfair on occasion. We shouldn’t. That’s an exercise in futility, a pointless endeavor. Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is like expecting a bull to not charge because you are a vegetarian.

I saw some good people in action recently and I hope that all the angry bulls will cut them some slack. Those good people were volunteer firefighters.

The night was wearing basic black.

There was a fire in a chemical plant in the frigid darkness of a small Minnesota town. The massive flames were more chilling than the temperature. It was the terrible triplets of crummy hours, nasty weather and horrible fire. An alarm went out to all the fire departments in the area. When the first volunteer firefighters arrived, the owner of the chemical company rushed over to them and said, “All my secret formulas are in the vault in my office. Without them, I am ruined. They must be saved. I will give $50,000 to the fire department that brings them out intact. You must help me.”

It was an enticing offer, but the roaring blaze held the firefighters at bay. More fire departments arrived. The desperate business owner increased his offer to $100,000 to the fire department that saved his secret formulas that would, in turn, save his business.

It didn’t look good. It appeared that the formulas would be rescued when pigs flew and that wasn’t likely to occur.

Then swine became airborne.

From the distance, a lone siren was heard. It was a welcome sound even if it was off-key. The fire truck came into view. It was from a small, nearby city, and was, by far, the oldest truck in the county. The ancient automobile kicked up its heels like a calf in a pasture. It sped past all the newer fire trucks and their crews. Without slowing down, the truck drove straight into the middle of the inferno. Walls fell from the collision. The other firefighters watched in both amazement and admiration as the firefighters jumped out of the old truck in the middle of the fire and fought the conflagration on all sides. It was a performance and effort that no one present had ever witnessed before. Within a short time, the heroes had extinguished the fire and had saved the secret formulas. The grateful chemical company owner presented that volunteer fire department with the reward check for $100,000. The business would survive and thrive.

Scoop, a local newspaper reporter, rushed over to interview the fire chief. “What are you going to do with all that money?” the reporter asked.

“Well,” said the chief, “the first thing we’re going to do is fix the brakes on that truck.”

Today, Timmy would use his cellphone to call a volunteer fire department, saving Lassie the disagreeable task of rescuing him after he’d fallen into a hole in the outhouse — again.

We aren’t capable, despite our claims, of being able to hang the moon, but I am so thankful that there are people willing to hold the ladder.

My mother believed that we are here to help others. Volunteer firefighters believe that, too.

 

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.