Challenge--The Story That Saves Your Life

Imagine that you have accepted a challenge to turn off your cell phone and actually interact with others—your family over dinner, friends at a party, Elvis impersonators at a convention. What do you do?!? You do what people did for centuries before the introduction of the printing press, electricity, or wireless connectivity—tell stories in person!

Whatever Gets You Through the Party

In his book “Whatever Gets You Through the Night: A Story of Sheherezade and the Arabian Entertainments,” (published in 2011 by Princeton University Press), Codrescu uses excerpts from works related to “The Arabian Entertainments” to set up the idea of the frame of storytelling. In one excerpt he quotes L. R. Lied from “Advice to Young Women Based on Literary Themes” (Scholastic Guides, 1899):  “If you can save one life by telling a story, what story will it be? Start thinking about it now, you never know when you’ll be called to tell it.”

Challenge

Sheherazade told stories for 1001 nights in order to save her life and the lives of the virgins of Baghdad. In 500 words or less, what story will you tell to save yourself and perhaps those around you from certain death by boredom during a cell phone challenge? Add your story as a comment to this blog post. Then come back and read the stories. You never know when one might come in handy! (My story comes it at 313 words.)

My Story

One sunny Sunday during the summer of 1979, I was driving south in Louisiana, returning to Baton Rouge from the Shreveport area. About half way through my drive, near Bunkie, I heard the sound of helicopters that assured me I had a flat tire. As I attempted to change it, a nice man pulled over and finished the chore for me. He pointed to a Cajun style house nearby. He said the man there fixed flats. He encouraged me to get my tire fixed before finishing my journey. (Those were the blissful days before 24/7/365.)

I took his advice to heart and pulled into the driveway. However, I found my heart in my mouth when I saw the dilapidated state of this house—cardboard covering missing panes in the door; greasy, tattered curtains. Against my better judgment, I knocked, hoping no one would answer. Alas, the door opened, revealing a gruff fat lady in a ragged, nylon nightgown. A TV in the background blared some Sunday afternoon show. (Clearly, I had interrupted something very important.)

I explained my dilemma. She informed me that her husband fixed flats and called to the back of the house for him. Shortly, a midget ran out to fix my flat. I felt as if I had stopped at some circus in disguise, surprised that the fat lady was not also bearded. A lanky young fellow followed the midget out to help fix my tire. Perhaps he was the circus sword swallower.

At any rate, I made the remainder of my drive, secure in the knowledge that if I had another flat, I would not be stranded. I had a somewhat inexpensive brush with the circus. I collected a wonderful story that for me falls into the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction category. Finally, I know that in today’s world, I never would have had such a local-color experience because of a flat tire.