Adrian Pearson - Cow Country

“It’s already four o’clock,” he would say. “And we’re not even thirty minutes out of the city….” And then: “Charlie, we’re going to be very late. It’s exactly four-thirty and we’re not even halfway there!” In rapid succession came five o’clock…five- thirty …five-forty- five …five- fifty -five. At exactly six, Raul looked up from his map and glumly announced:

“It’s six. The party’s officially starting….”

Bessie whistled her amazement.

I nodded. It was well past six o’clock and we were not even halfway back from our six-hour journey from verdure to desiccation and then back through the gate to verdure. The city was far behind us, yet Cow Eye was equally far ahead.

“The party’s already started,” said Raul. “And we’re still hours from being there….”

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “The event is underway and it will just have to proceed without us. I’ve left Dr. Felch detailed notes. It’ll work out.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“Because I planned everything meticulously. I am an educational administrator and so I’ve left no stone unturned in planning the Christmas party that has just started.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. As we speak, it’s a few minutes after six. Which means the cafeteria by now has been decorated exactly as I planned it.”

“And how is that ?”

“Meticulously. And festively.”

“Yes, but how specifically?”

“Well, for example, on one entire wall there is a full-scale replica of the American flag — all thirteen stripes and forty-seven stars. The flag is so large that it takes up the whole wall from one corner to the next. It is enormous. And imposing. And across from it, on the opposite wall, is this flag’s diametrical opposite: hundreds of smaller flags representing the lesser nations of the world. On this wall the world’s various expressions of nationhood are receiving their moment in the sun: from Afghanistan to Yugoslavia; from Albania to Zimbabwe. The Soviet Union. Tanganyika. Every single country now extant on the face of the earth has been given its own flag and in perfect unison these flags are crowding together to take up the breadth of an entire wall of our cafeteria….”

“What about Zaire?”

“It’s there.”

“And Serbia?”

“Next to Croatia.”

“And India?”

“To the left of Pakistan.”

“Bosnia and Herzegovina?”

“They’re both there.”

“Eritrea?”

“Yes.”

“Kyrgyzstan?”

“Yes.”

“Palau?”

“Yes.”

“Taiwan?”

“After tense negotiations, yes.”

“Tibet?”

“Yes!”

“The Maldives?”

“For now, yes.”

“They’re all on that wall?”

“Yes! You see, our Christmas party will be an inclusive event representing all the polities of the world. All the different nations that make up our rich geopolitical tapestry. The governments. The races. The ethnic affiliations. The religions. By now there will be an enormous evergreen set up in the corner and on this tree there will be Christmas decorations sent in by children from around the world. There will be precious figurines hand-crafted by little Arab children in Palestine and old women in Bavaria and orphans from the burnt villages of Vietnam. There will be tiny decorative rocking chairs and candy canes and glass balls with snow and ice. Ornaments of all possible denomination will be hung from the boughs of the evergreen: a peaceful Buddha; a portrait of Jesus Christ suspended from the cross; a grinning Mohammed flashing an enthusiastic thumbs-up; a self-decapitated Chhinnamasta offering up the severed head of our humanity. The tree will be draped in garland and tinsel with angels strumming harps. And at the top there will be a large Star of David shining down upon it all….”

As I described the decorations for the Christmas party — the ice-sculpted reindeer, the gingerbread village with miniature train running through it, the games table featuring Monopoly and mahjong — my friends settled back in their seats to listen. In lieu of the actual party, I realized, my words would have to serve as their vicarious celebration: amid the warmth of our Starfire, my impassioned imagining would have to suffice. And so I described the Christmas party as best I could. In vibrant tones I unveiled the party now joyously under way so that my friends might experience it in all its revelry:

“Meanwhile,” I said, “in front of the wall next to the American flag there is a very long table covered with a festive red table cloth and green napkins. The cloth is depending from the table and is cut-edged. The napkins are frilly. On this table there is a large crystal punchbowl that has been filled with apple cider and cinnamon and nutmeg; next to the cider is a pitcher of eggnog; next to the eggnog is butterscotch cocoa; and next to the cocoa are two more bowls of holiday punch, one spiked with rum and coke and the other with Prozac and Thalidomide. And of course, there is the wet bar….”

“Wet bar?”

“Yes. How could you have a Christmas party without that ?!”

“It is hard to imagine indeed. Could you describe it for us, please?”

In the quiet of the car my friends had closed their eyes to better picture the scene.

“Of course,” I said. “You see, in a previous life Luke Quittles was an aspiring bartender and so he has agreed to run the wet bar. Right now as we speak — at this very moment while the three of us make our way slowly along this dry and dusty highway — Luke is standing behind the counter in a red Santa hat and elf’s vest beaming like a proud parent. In front of him there is a keg of beer and bottles of wine and flasks of bourbon and rum. There are liqueurs and mixed drinks to order. There will be classic cocktails such as piña coladas and margaritas and daiquiris and screwdrivers — but also original concoctions with exotic names like Flaming Orgasm and Cow Cunt and Math Teacher Gone Wild . If there is a drink to appeal to the heart of a hard-working faculty member of Cow Eye Community College after a long week of accreditation activities, you can be sure that it will be there…!”

“Well, it seems like you’ve got the drinks covered. How about the seating? How have you managed to fit so many people into such a confined segment of time and space? Our cafeteria is not that big. In fact it’s quite small. And our faculty is divided. So how are you going to solve that?”

“Simple! You see, by now everyone has checked in and each attendee has received a folder with a personalized agenda. They have been assigned to small groups and forced to sit with these groups at tables that have been arranged tightly in the small cafeteria. By doing this we can keep the crowded room from becoming overly polarized and in this way our faculty and staff will be forced to interact collegially with colleagues they wouldn’t normally share the time of day with. Thus, we will put tenured faculty on maintenance workers, and counselors on groundskeepers. The financial aid staff has been assigned to disparate tables as well, where they are now interacting with academic advisors who have been forced to do the same. We have assigned secretaries to faculty and faculty to support staff. We will even pair untenured lecturers with their tenured peers. After careful planning each group will boast a representative of every demographic that we are blessed to have at our school. Importantly, they have been divided along regional lines so that each table will have one person from the North, South, East, West, Northeast, Southwest, Northwest, Southeast, Old West, New South, Far North, Midwest, and California. And of course at each table there will be at least one token employee who was born and raised in Cow Eye Junction.”