By Ashley Toland Editor

The Ruth’s Chris leftovers in the mayor’s Frigidaire called his name in the middle of the night some time late last week. He made his way down to his kitchen and began gnawing on a piece of cold filet when he heard a noise outside.

Alarmed, he grabbled the biggest weapon he could find at the moment – a copy of the Citizens’ Task Force Report. He ascertained the sound was coming from the side of his house. He tiptoed slowly over to the window, Task Report gripped tightly in hand.

He could see there was something pillaging his garbage cart. Probably a cat or a possum, he thought. Knowing he would have a big mess to clean up in the morning, he decided he’d better go ahead and scare it off.

He opened the door, pausing for just a moment trying to decide if he should go out since he was wearing nothing but his sexy red, silk pajama bottoms. He said to himself, “What the hell, I look good,” and jumped down to the cart.

He kicked the bottom of the can and hit the top with the Citizen’s Report. The massive report was too much for the lid to bear and it fell off, hitting the ground. The mayor knew his culprit could not hide now, so he crept over to surprise his garbage cart critter. Just before he made it, a figure arose from the middle of the pile of Glad bags.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, prissy britches?” the foul-mouthed figure asked as he belched and dove back into the cart before the mayor could get a good look at it.

Startled, the top civic cheese jumped back a few feet. What was that thing? A small child? A midget? The only thing he knew for sure was that was no possum or cat. And also that perhaps he had mad a poor bedtime attire choice.

“I demand you show yourself at once and vacate my garbage cart immediately,” the Mayor demanded in a James Earl Jones-esque voice. (“Field of Dreams” JEJ, not Darth Vader JEJ. There is a subtle difference.).

The creature did not jump out, but did throw some shrimp shells out of the cart.

At that moment, it hit him. He knew exactly who it was.

“Juan, you poor thing. I know things are rough now brother, but why don’t you come inside, and we’ll talk about this. There are plenty of opportunities for you now. There are several openings at Bishop, one at the Math and Science School. We’ll get you a job. There’s no need for you to be rootin’ around in my garbage.”

“Oh, screw you, Jones,” the creature said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Juan, please. Have some dignity, man,” Jones coaxed.

“Who the hell is Juan, buttwad?” a small, hairy, warty apparition asked as he flew out of the cart.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else,” the mayor said nervously.

“Clearly Dow did not tell you about me in the changing of the guard. It figures,” the creature said. “I’m Gary, Gary the mayoral garbage gnome,” he said as he reached out a transparent little hand with what appeared to be mayonnaise all over it.

The mayor stuck out his hand to shake, but it went right through Gary’s condiment-covered claw.

“Ohhhh, you know. Dow did tell me about you. But I thought you were dead.”

“Yeah that witch that writes this column did kill me off about a year ago, but she figured since you have such an affinity for littler you really needed a garbage gnome. Though she did say she probably would kill me off again soon because she doesn’t really like to use me anymore. That bi—,”

“Gary,” the mayor interrupted, “thanks but I don’t really think I need a gnome.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong Jonesie, old boy.”

“How so?” the mayor inquired.

“Well the aforementioned witch told me you just announced that nearly 200 new garbage cans will be placed all over the city near bus stops and high pedestrian areas,” Gary said.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Jones confirmed.

And she also said you were really cracking down on litterbugs. Fining them $406, even if they are caught throwing a cigarette butt out. Am I right?”

“Yes, yes, that’s also correct.”

“Well, Sam, can’t you see you need me and my people now more than ever. Garbage is what we do. It’s what we eat. It’s what we love,” the gnome said in a cheesy David Caruso a la “CSI: Miami” voice.

“Well I guess that’s true. I do need you, you cute little bugger,” the mayor said.

“Oh, Sammy, you complete me,” Gary said as he wrapped his little apparition body around one of the mayor’s red silk-pajama-covered legs. “We are going to get rid of a lot of litter together. Thank you. You don’t know what this will do for my people.”

“Have you told them about the new cans?”

“Well I just put an ad up on Craigslist for 200 brand new properties. And listen, this is what I’m thinking. The cans are costing the city $235 bucks apiece so we’ll charge the incoming gnomes $500 a piece for the cans. And I figure you and I can hit the town with our earnings and look for us some lady friends. RRRRRROOOOOWWWW! Whatcha think, Jonesie?”

“Oh Gary, that’s sounds like some Bishop State economics you got going on there. I don’t think that’ll fly, but we can still hit the town,” the mayor offered.

“Fine. Have it your way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some garbage to eat.”

The mayor went in, proud of himself and his initiative to clean up the city. If it takes an army of foul-mouthed gnomes to aid in this mission, he thought, then so be it. He looked at the filet sitting on the counter. He picked it up and threw it in the Ruth’s take-out bag along with some leftover creamed spinach and Lyonnaise fries. He opened up the door and tossed the bag in Gary’s cart.

“This is for you, Gar,” he whispered.

As he made his way back to bed, he heard a loud belch.

“You’re welcome, Gar.”

Ashley Toland is Lagniappe editor. Contact her at ashleytoland@lagniappemobile.com.

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