"I'm Really Sorry To Hear About That"

Imagine:

A young man, late twenties/early thirties, named Jeff Messenger, crossing within a crosswalk on a curvy road in unincorporated Snohomish County. As Jeff is near halfway across, he is struck by the side view mirror of a passing sunburst orange van. The connection is hard enough to send Jeff flying.

Jeff pops right into the mouth of a nearby well like a schoolyard basketball player’s wet dream. Nothing but Annette Funicello fills his mind as he smacks the back of his head along the inside of the wet bricks. He hits the cold, dark, well water, reeking of minerals, with a thunderous splash that echoes off the walls. Almost as soon as he is back up to the surface is quickly pulled back under and thrust through a complex plumbing system, made entirely of vinyl and nagahide.

He is flushed out into an enormous cave where he is greeted by a small group of wide eyed young men and women. He is introduced to the one who seemed to be the leader of the group. Interestingly enough, he is named Geoff as well (but, as you can see, spelled differently). The only thing that Jeff can think to say is:

“Zorro was Annette Funicello’s favorite show.”

Mr. Messenger learns that he has found himself among a community of people who have all been struck by sunburst orange vans and knocked into the well. And here they sit, attempting to develop the technology that will bring the automotive tyrants down.

Something about the concussion Jeff received on his fall mixes facts from the original Mickey Mouse Club transmissions and his Great Aunt’s recipe for snickerdoodles. It turns out to be exactly the knowledge that this group needs. Soon, all hell will break loose.

-This is the sort of thing that I’m thinking about while customers are yapping on and on with their inane complaints…