The seven Dwarves’ vacation
Benjamin Green
“Down in the Dirt” writing
Patrolman Hendricks was about to take a sip of coffee when the call came in. It basically boiled down to he had to go try to calm down a hysterical woman.
He turned to his partner, Patrolman Chavez, and said, “Well, looks like we get to deal with a hysterical woman. Probably had her plastic lawn flamingos stolen.”
Patrolman Chavez laughed, and asked, “Why would someone want to steal one of those?”
Patrolman Hendricks shrugged, and said, “I wouldn’t know. My wife put out three, and I put out a sign promising a six pack of beer to anybody who stole one.”
Chavez laughed again, and suggested, “Maybe they heard what brand of beer you drink.” The Crown Victoria roared off the gravel shoulder, and rolled into town.
Midvale was an ordinary Southern California planned community. The houses were all painted the same shade of white. The houses all looked similar. Even each blade of lush green grass was cut at a uniform half inch. It looked like a modern Levittown.
Mrs. Anderson was already pacing by the time the police officers arrived. Her brown hair was up in rollers, and her homely face was screwed up into a frown of concern. She was on the chubby side, and the housecoat she wore did little to flatter her figure.
The two patrolmen slipped on a pair of wraparound shades before getting out of the Crown Victoria. Patrolman Hendricks asked, “What’s the matter ma’am?”
Mrs. Andrews sobbed, “Somebody stole my dwarves!” Though they managed to keep their faces impassive, Hendricks and Chavez gave away their thoughts by looking at each other.
Mrs Anderson added, “I had stone replicas of the Seven Dwarves. I came out this morning, and...and...” She was unable to go on. She burst into hoarse sobs.
The two policemen looked at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Calm the woman down, then write a report. Another fine afternoon right in the toilet. Damn.
They took down all the information, thanked the still sniffing woman, and promised to do all they could. Hendricks groused, “Someone stole seven dwarves, and a middle aged housewife freaks out. Who stole her Prozac?”
Chavez said, “If someone calls in Snow White and the Evil Queen missing, that’s it. I’m retiring.”
Patrolman Hendricks shot back, “You haven’t put in your twenty, earned that big, fat policeman’s pension.”
Patrolman Chavez sneered. “The only way you can survive on a pliceman’s pension is to drink beer for all three meals.”
Patrolman Hendricks said, “Beer, the Eleysian nectar of the gods...” It was at that point that Patrolman Chavez slugged him in the shoulder.
A week later, the first letter arrived at Mrs. Anderson’s house. It was postmarked Chicago. Inside the large manila envelope was four folders of pictures, and a letter. It all made sense to her now.
This was one of those things where lawn furniture was grabbed, and taken on a trip. It was always returned with pictures of the trip, at least to her knowlege. She was put out that it had been done without her permission, but it promised some great pictures of places she had never been before.
What she found strange was the letter writer went to great lengths to write as if one of the seven dwarves was writing. he even went so far as to include news about the other six dwarves.
She took the letter to the police station, and the sergeant behind the desk said, “Yep. Probably kids who grabbed ‘em to take them on an across-the-country tour. They’ll probably be brought back in a month.”
Mrs. Anderson asked, “But isn’t there anything you can do to prosecute the perpetrators?”
The sergeant shrugged, and said, “Not really. The city would probably object to the amount of police resources that would have to be allocated to the case.
“About all we could do is station police cars across the street to grab ‘em when they put them back. If they come back broken, or if they don’t come back, then you have a case. Otherwise, sorry.” Mrs. Anderson thanked him, and left.
That was how it started. The postcards came twice a week, and the manila envelopes full of pictures came every other week. All the writing was from the perspective of one of the dwarves. Mrs. Anderson soon stopped paying attention.
Six months went by. A postcard postmarked Oahu announced that her dwarves would be back in three days. Mrs. Anderson read it, and forgot about it.
Two days later, there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Anderson, who was watering the plants, asked, “Who is it?” Nobody answered.
That was probably her dwarves being returned. She opened the door, and looked down. They were all there. They were all wearing Hawaiian shirts and leis. Happy had a camera around his neck.
He looked up at her, and said, “We’re back from our around-the-world trip, and I must say we really had a blast.” Mrs. Anderson’s eyes bugged out, and her jaw dropped.
Grumpy squinted his left eye, and glowered at her with his right eye. Then he asked, “Are you going to invite us in, or are you just going to stand there stupidly?” It was then that Mrs. Anderson fell on her kiester, and began screaming.
