Before I found my current job as Chief Nag at the halfway house, I spent ten years working in a small flower shop. Most of the time, there was barely enough business to keep the owner and I busy, but around the major holidays we needed extra help. Sometimes we would enlist the teenage children of family and friends to do what we called "hopping." A hopper would ride along on deliveries to take the flowers to the door while the driver turned the vehicle around, checked the route for the next delivery, and so on.
Before my own children were old enough to ride along, we had recruited the thirteen-year-old son of the owner's best friend who rode along with me on one particularly eventful trip. Our region was being hit by a major snow storm and while the areas we were driving in were relatively clear, we had the radio tuned to a Buffalo DJ who was reading an ever-expanding list of closing and cancellations.
At one point, Boy Hopper turned to me and said, "Wait! Did he just say Holy Infidel Frog Academy?!"
And, you know, in my semi-overwrought state (working retail during the holidays is full of wrought, trust me), I was pretty sure the DJ had said, "Holy Infidel Frog Academy." At that moment, it made as much sense as anything else I could think of.
As the DJ started at the beginning of the list for the umpteenth time, we cranked up the volume and were mildly disappointed to learn that it was the "Holy Infant of Prague Academy."
The Skin of Our Teeth
1 day ago