Man Falls Asleep, Drives Into Church
November, 2009
"Oh, it was a right exciting day, it was," chirped Mrs. Ruth ("actually St. Lucy, dearie") Benwicky. "We never expected that, and right in the middle of Father's sermon! Well, that woke everybody up right quick."
"I was not amused," intoned Father Alexander ("the fool for Christ") Riddick. "It was very unexpected."
Mrs. Benwicky patted him on the head. "Of course it was, dearie, someone drove into the church. I'm not sure who would ever expect that to happen, really, it's just plain out of the ordinary."
"It was SO COOL," shouted George ("the warrior he was so cool and he got to fight dragons and it was awesome") Hageman. "Father was doing what my mom says not to call droning and then there was this huge CRASH and then--"
"George Iakovos Hageman!" Mrs. Genevieve ("not right now") Hageman snapped. "Didn't I tell you it was time to leave ten minutes ago? Stop pestering that nice lady and get over here right now, young man!"
As George skedaddled, Mr. Pete ("wahl, Ah guess you'd mean Saint Peter the Al-ee-yoot, a-yep") Johnson came up to ask Father Alexander's blessing to go. "You a writer for the paper?"
"Yes, sir, the Onion Dome. Do you have anything to say about the incident?"
"What incident wassat, exactly? People keep talking, but I think I might-a slept right through it."
"And the more shame to you, Peter Johnson!" Mrs. Benwicky chided. "Don't you know better than to admit near Father that you were sleeping during the sermon? It was a rather nice one this week, I'll have you know. And only forty minutes this time, too!"
"Was anybody hurt?" I asked.
"Oh, no, not a soul, thank Heaven! Just a shock to us all."
Just then I felt a meek tap on my shoulder. A tall, bearded man in a burgundy tophat looked down at me sheepishly. "I think you want to talk to me. I'm Jacob--what's a saint's name?--Parkinson, and I caused all this."
He pointed to the side of the church. "I'm afraid that's completely my fault. I was just so tired that I drove right into the church when the street curved to the right. I don't even remember it."
"Why were you driving?"
"I try to take a drive every Sunday morning. I take the old route, even if I'm not working for the fancy carriage company down on State Street any more. Forty years, it was, and old habits die hard. Funny, the horses usually know better than to mind me if I'm snoring."
"Oh, hello, dearie," chattered Mrs. Benwicky. "Why were you snoring? You should see an allergist, you know, perhaps you're--"
"Mrs. Benwicky, I'm sure he's fine," I interjected.
"Oh, all right," she conceded. "But why were you out for a drive on a Sunday morning? We're very glad to have you--have you had enough coffeecake, dear?--but you missed the whole Homily!" She patted him on the shoulder and walked off, chattering at someone else.
"Were you hurt at all, Mr. Parkinson?" I asked.
"No, no, not at all. I'm used to falling out of the carriage. It happened a lot in my younger days."
"Sir, do you do this every Sunday?"
"When the wife lets me. It's the only time she'll let me wear the old costume. Well, the hat, at any rate. None of the rest still fits." He shook his head and sighed. "It's all right, though. The horses weren't hurt, and the church's siding wasn't even scratched. But it looks like they'll be talking about this for weeks."
He shook his head ruefully. "Oh, bother. Do you think any of them will kindly help me turn over my carriage? I'd like to go home, and I really don't want to hafta tell the wife.."
This report was filed by Onion Dome terce reporter
Brigid Strait.
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