Bubba thought he had the answer. After all, he had had
plenty of time to think ‘bout it. The Arab Spring was now well over a year old
and he hadn’t held a job in twice that time. He’d been laid off from his mower
operator job with the City of Yazoo
Mississippi well before Spring—giving
him plenty of time to work on the big problems.
Bubba had sent in recommendations to the state fish &
game local office, demanding a change to the hand fishin’ of Catfish—there just
wasn’t anything wrong with Noodlin’ in Bubba’s mind; he’d done it since he was
a kid. Most of the time he’d been with his Dad and Uncle Billy Bob, but had
recently talked his cousins and best friend Sammy into taking a chance with
him.
But, he had spent most of his time lately thinkin’ ‘bout
nothing but solving this Arab Spring hoop-de-doo. Bubba didn’t hold much stock
in the news papers; his eighth grade education didn’t allow much readin’ and
writin’. But Bubba had studied and studied the news casts and commentary on the
cable TV stations—this new fangled luxury had just recently been pushed into Yazoo
City by a new satellite hook up to
the house. Of course that came only six months after getting electricity to the
ole homestead. This was no small feet to Bubba; he’d always wanted electricity.
He thought he had finally come up with the solution. If only
he knew somebody in the Mississippi Air National Guard, he was sure he could
make diplomacy work to his advantage and maybe make a little cash on the side.
Ya see, Bubba needed the money to git married—he had a real strong infatuation
on Cindy Lou and didn’t think he could hold out much longer..
Just last night, Bubba had heard ‘bout the French maybe
going into Syria
and cleaning house. The French, Bubba thought and then just burst out laughing.
When had the French ever done anything through to the end? Bubba just kept
recalling what Georgie Patton used to say: "I would rather have a German
division in front of me than a French one behind me." “Just look what they
had done over there in Louisiana—that
was a mess ever since Katrina had come through and those French Quarters were
still not worth a nickel. In Bubba’s mind He was for the Mississippi
Legislature passing a law stating that if there’s ever another war in Europe,
the looser has to keep France.
Bubba carried around in his pocket this picture he’d come
across that he just knew proved his idea to be correct.
Bubba admired all those Arab fighters but thought they were
being held back. They’d come across some mighty fine lookin’ shootin’ arms but
so far hadn’t got them many of those tanks. Now tanks just might be the
solution but Bubba thought he was on the right track and the cost would be a
bunch less that a hundred tanks or so—of this Bubba was positive. He just
needed to get the mayor to listen; he just knew that the mayor must know
somebody in the Mississippi Air National Guard.
Ya see, Bubba had worked out the entire solution just by
studying the photo he carried in his pocket. He take it out and show the
picture to everybody he came into contact with: walkin’ down Yazoo’s Main
Street, at Good Fellow’s Church on Sunday evening or at his favorite watering
hole, the Suds and Gas.
Bubba would back his acquaintance into a corner and say:
“See here. These guys heads are cold. I don’t know why beings a though they all
live in the desert, but see right there” he’d say pointing at the picture,
“they’re all wrapped up cause it’s cold over there.”
Bubba had reasoned it out one day laying on the creek bank
after a tough struggle of noodlin’ with a hefty catfish—he was tired but his
brain never shut off. His first thought had been a question: “Why did they wear
those sheets on their heads?” He thought ‘bout it for a while and it finally
come to him. They’re heads are cold. Then he thought: “Why wear sheets on their
heads?” This question stumped Bubba for some time ‘till he decided to look at
the question backards. Why not wear sheets. There just had to be more to it so
Bubba kept on a’thinkin’.
Like a bolt of lightening it came to Bubba: there must be a
real problem with theft over there in the Arab lands. It just had to be theft
otherwise they’d leave their bed sheets at home when they went off to work in
the morning. It wasn’t so much that their heads were cold; they were more worried
‘bout somebody stealin’ the bed sheets. So, if his supposin’ was right; how
could Bubba solve the problem. He laid back down on the creek bank and resumed
to thinkin’.
For some unknown reason, after a while Bubba’s mind wondered
off to that trip he, his dad and Uncle Billy Bob had made to Atlanta a couple
of summers back and the thrill he had a’watchin’ those Braves play the
Dodgers—he still had the cap.
That’s when the second lightening bolt hit him square
between the eyes. “That’s it! That’s the answer.” Bubba squealed. “That’s all
it would take.”
After gittin’ home, Bubba took a pencil, a scrap of paper
and wrote out his solution and added that paper to the picture he carried in
his pocket. He also drafted a letter to the Atlanta Braves and sent it off the
very next morning. Now all he had to do was locate somebody in the Mississippi
Air National Guard.
A week later, Bubba got his answer back from the Braves.
They were in if he could just arrange delivery. Now it was even more important
to find somebody in the Air Guard.
The very next morning Bubba cornered the Mayor in a café
down on main street and forced him to listen to his idea. “Ya see Mayor, if we
can just get the Mississippi Air National Guard to fly over there and air drop
a few plane loads of Atlanta Brave gimme caps all over the desert, there
wouldn’t be any more need for those Arabs to wear their bed shhets on their
heads all day long. They could leave them a’home and stop worryin’ ‘bout theft.
They just need to stop the bed sheet staelin’. I tell ya Mayor, gimme caps is
the solution!”
