I have told a few stories about my college roommate Dave, and his impossible mishaps with ketchup. I apologize now for any misunderstandings, but I have apparently left the impression that the problem with Dave was one concerning ketchup. Understand that ketchup was not the important element in those stories; rather, it is what happened to the ketchup when introduced into the presence of Dave. Think of it as one of those experiments where they drop a couple of Mentos into a bottle of Diet Coke, it’s kind of a reaction. Except that with the mentos, the reaction is limited to a specific combination of ingredients, otherwise it doesn’t work, whereas with Dave, almost any inanimate object will do (or perhaps even animate objects, but most of them, by now, know enough to steer clear, so we may never know).
The story about Dave that I have not yet shared, is the one I call “The Colossal Crash of 1988”. It is not a reference to the stock market, although it had an immediate and decided economic impact on a local level. It is also not a reference to a car wreck, but it possessed some of the grandeur, if not the magnitude of a train derailment. No, The Colossal Crash of 1988 was about plates. That’s right plain every-day dinner plates.
Almost everyone has dropped a plate at some time. We are all aware of that sick feeling that comes as the plate slips from our fingers and that brief freeze in time that occurs from the instant we realize that the plate is falling until it impacts the floor. And we have all sighed that deep sigh as we reach for the cleaning supplies. Once more I feel it is necessary to remind you that, with Dave, as always, it is a matter of scale.
By this time, Dave was working in the school cafeteria. He was as good an employee as the Cafeteria Manager could want. Dave was a conscientious worker, a willing worker, a cooperative worker. He always did whatever was asked of him. But then, he was still Dave, and that’s like being the best grizzly bear in the world, because in the end, you’re still a bear. And when a bear does what bears do, it’s better if people are a safe distance from them.
I was seated at a table, having my breakfast one Saturday. Well, not just any Saturday, this was the Saturday before M.R.I., or Minister’s Refresher Institute. A conference for ministers of affiliated churches, and hundreds of church pastors from all over America, and even some international locations, were about to descend on the school for a week of lectures, seminars and sharing. The school administration and employees had all been working hard and long to make the school a showplace, to put our best foot forward. Enter Dave:
In the cafeteria line, there was a counter about six feet long where the plates were stacked. The counter was about two feet deep, had a shelf built on top that was about one foot deep, and another shelf that ran along the front of it below the level of the counter top. This last shelf is where the problem occurred. Dave had been bringing clean dishes from the dish room, and stacking them on the counter for the morning breakfast crowd. He had stacked a large number of plates on the counter, but had not paid attention to the physical dynamics of the task. Because the shelf at the front of the counter extended beyond the base, it was of prime importance that the bulk of the dishes be stacked on top of the counter before any were put on that shelf, otherwise the whole thing would be overbalanced and cause it to tip over. No one had bothered to train Dave on this small, but important detail.
As I took my first sip of coffee, it happened. A crash… of plates… plates… plates…plates… You see, as his roommate, by this time I didn’t even need to look up to know that Dave was at the epicenter of this quake. I have to say, though I can’t explain why, to this day, this event rates as one of the most memorable days of my life. Not in the same way as my wedding, or the birth of our daughter, or the day when we adopted our other children, those were special, cherished days. This was more like the day the Nazis invaded Poland; the awe of the blitzkrieg was unforgettable too. I will never forget the sound I heard, emanating from that cafeteria line. It was simply the biggest, grandest, most magnificent crash I have ever had the privilege to behold in my life. Hollywood could not have done better with all of the special effects at their disposal. The crash seemed to go on and on; it appeared to extended far longer than a crash could possibly go. And the volume matched the duration in both magnitude and impact.
As he set the last large stack of plates on that front shelf, the counter started to lean. Dave tried to stop it, but by the time he reacted, it was too late; the plates were headed to earth, and the act of stopping the counter only served to accelerate the motion of the plates. They didn’t just fall off in a pile though, they cascaded, one off the top of the next, like the team of precision swimmers in the old Esther Williams movies doing a synchronized dive into the pool. Only it was happening simultaneously to multiple stacks of plates. The small group of early diners was stunned into inactivity, just remaining where they sat, with blank stares. When it was finally over, there was a ringing in the silence, like when you turn off a lawn mower after an hour or so of running it. I’m sure there wasn’t any dust there, but the sense of dust settling filled the room. And there on the floor was an enormous pile of shattered dinnerware. There was enough broken porcelain there to assemble an entire Chinese terra cotta army. Dave had done it big.
The day before the college was to host a grand assemblage of its most important people: Alumni, contributors, advocates, and benefactors, Dave had done it big, really big. Figuring out how he had managed to pile as many dishes as he did on the entire counter and still overbalance it is a job for theoretical mathematicians, so I won’t even make the attempt. But I can tell you this; that day, Dave managed to break almost every plate that cafeteria owned, and every kind of plate too. He broke dinner plates, salad plates, fruit and cereal bowls, soup dishes… you name it, he smashed it.
The “butcher’s bill” was high; when they called the cafeteria manager at home to tell him what had happened, he fired Dave, right there, over the phone, but not until he had cleaned up the mess (the president of the college later made them rehire Dave because, he explained, “It was an accident”). This time, the dustpan stayed in the broom closet, because this time maintenance had to show up with a couple of snow scoops, and it took two large trash barrels to contain the debris.
The school recovered, and M.R.I. was a resounding success, although I am sure that more than a few of the guests wondered why they were dining off of paper plates. Dave was made to repay a portion of the cost of the plates, and returned to his job in the cafeteria. The cafeteria manager, who had always been a true man of God, became a valiant soldier of prayer, especially during Dave’s shifts, so there was some good that arose from the incident
They say that there are some very wealthy people who are willing to pay millions for the experience of travelling beyond Earth’s atmosphere in a spaceship. I would also love to have that experience, but will never have that kind of money, so I suppose the point is mute. I love Dave, he was, and he remains, one of my greatest friends, but you couldn’t pay me enough money to take that trip with Dave, because even the best spaceship is only a thing, and my friend Dave has this way with things…
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