Recently, I was cleaning out my cupboard, actually it was my wife doing the cleaning, and she found an end-of term paper I had written about 10 years ago in school. Enjoy the read, I sure did.
They sat there on the patio outside the diner - a big untidy one and a small, well-dressed one - deep in conversation. From a distance, the big one looked seven months into a very difficult pregnancy judging from the way his stomach pushed against his ruffled t-shirt, only, he was male and so there had to be another reason; men do not bear young. His matted hair, unkept moustache, and faded white shorts spoke volumes for his personal hygene. The small one, on the other hand, was dressed conservatively for the occasion. The black tie which he wore was carefully chosen to contrast beautifully against his white long sleeve shirt. The deep black pants and new hair cut added the final touch to his suave appearance.
From where the men sat, they had a good view of the scenery. Although it was hot, it was not humid and there was a constant breeze. The diner was small but very comfortable. There was only space for one small, square wooden table, but it served its purpose well. It was decorated with a bright yellow table cloth and a bouquet of freshly picked roses. The food was tasty and the service exceptional. It was a fine place to chat.
And chat they did. Every once in a while, the big one would point towards the end of the road, mutter something, and slam his huge palms into the wooden table. The plates would rattle, the knives and forks would rearrange themsleves rhythmically, and beer froth would make its way up to the rim of the glasses to spill over and add to the growing pool at the base. The small one hated that. Quickly, he woud wipe the pool at the base of his glass and reset his side of the small dining table. Always - by gesturing - he would offer to clean up the big one's side of the table, but the big one would not let him. Apparently, the big one thought that what was being said was more important. And, as always, the small one would nod his approval.
The bigger one worked with the government. He was the head of the department responsible for maintaining a clean envrironment in this rural setting. The smaller one was a journalist for a big magazine. He had come to town to write an article on the rubbish disposal zone which the government had set up not too far from where they sat. The smell was sickening. It would come, borne on the strong wind currents, with sufficient strength and stench to kill cattle dead in thier tracks. The residents were complaining incessantly. The story had attracted national attention. The big one was caught squarely in the middle of the controversy; cleaning the dump zone was his responsiblity.
After taking a long hard draw on his cigar, the big one puffed the smoke carelessly in the direction of the small one. He seemed intent on emphasizing that his department cared deeply for the environment and that they were doing their best. In fact, he insisted that his department had gone out of their way to make this place safer and cleaner. The small one, always nodding, tried despeartely to avoid the smelly smoke. He tried hard to drive the flies away but it was hopeless. The flies multiplied. The small one observed that flies did not bother the big one. The big one observed that something was distracting the small one but the big one could not figure out what it was.
Frustrated, the big one drew deep from inside and spat out a huge spit ball which exploded on the pavement not too far from where they were sitting. The small one allowed his eyes to follow the 'bomb' to the pavement. He coud see that the pavement was covered in craters of spit. Slowly, the small one ws getting the picture.
"Look here mister'" he added with a growing agitation, "write whatever you want. But what ever you write, just let it be the truth. And the truth is that we care. I care. These people, the community, they mean a lot to me. You have to say that in your article. You have to say that the government cares. This rubbish problem is my responsiblity and I will take care of it like how I take care of my lovely children, like how I take care of myself. Do you understand, Mr. Big journalist?"
The journalist for the big magazine surveyed the filthy table, the spit ridden pavement, the wrinkled shirt, the multitude of flies, and the unbreathable stench from the dump and - always nodding - responded with biting sarcasm, "As a small town guy, I am sure you care. That is why you sent a bulldozer to clear the zone on the very same day that Time magazine sent me out here to cover the story. Oh sure, big government only has the best interest of these small folk at heart!".