They Call Me Yellow Jell-o

Posted on September 6, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Getting my just desserts

 

 

“They call me mellow yellow …”

Mellow Yellow – Donovan

 

I met Otto Bernstein in the spring of 1977.  My dear friend, the late Pat Campbell, introduced me to this most amazing man.  Pat was a piano player and on many occasions she would travel out to Bluesky to accompany Otto, who was a better than average cello player.  I always had the impression that he was a Renaissance man.

As much as I enjoyed the music they made together that day, I was there on a very different mission.  Otto spent a good deal of the year in a southern climate and I was interested in renting his log house.

From what I could determine, he was way ahead of his time.  He had fashioned all kinds of gadgets on the property, including an indoor cistern and a dumb waiter.  He had wired the property so that the yard would light up at nightfall.  He even had a garage that would open by remote control.  Remember, this was 1977.  His house was a veritable antique shop and he had dozens, possibly hundreds of knick-knacks and paintings in the living room.  I was a bit leery about being responsible for all this.

I had every right to feel a bit nervous.

I had come from the East coast to teach school, and I was joined by five other guys who graduated with their teaching degrees from the same institution.  We were all in our twenties, single, with a bit of polishing required around the rough edges.  The boys enjoyed a good party and every so often things went a bit off the rails.

After one particularly raucous affair, we had left the apartment belonging to one of the guys a tad upside down.  Literally.  I remember with great clarity when he declared that someday he would exact his revenge, singling me out as the instigator.

Many months later I left town to attend a professional development conference in Banff.  Banff is a long drive from Bluesky, around 10 hours.  After two full days of endless meetings I hit the road for home on Sunday afternoon.  Somewhere between Edmonton and Grande Prairie, it hit me like a thunderbolt. Something bad awaited me upon my return to Otto’s log house.  I just knew that the boys had taken advantage of my extended absence.

I arrived home after dark and pulled into the yard.  The outdoor lights went on.  I pressed the remote control to open the garage door.  I wasn’t able to drive in because my bedroom was neatly arranged where the car would normally be parked.

I cautiously approached the cabin, and just as I was about to open the door, something told me to look up.  Perched precariously over the entryway was a bucket of water which promptly fell when I gently turned the knob.

The kitchen is the first room past the front porch.  I flicked on the lights and the ambiance didn’t look quite right.  And, little wonder.  The floor of the kitchen was completely encased in two inches of yellow Jell-O.  And so was every glass, every bowl, every pot and pan.  I removed my socks and made my way through the slimy mess and entered the living room.

It was empty.  Nothing.  Every piece of furniture, every piece of art and ornamentation had been removed.

Scattered on the floor of the kitchen were the discarded wrappers of photos from a Polaroid camera.  I realized that the intruders had the good sense and decency (!) to take pictures before and after the crime.

It was 2:00 a.m. when I had finally scrapped away the Jell-o from the kitchen floor and re-assembled the bedroom indoors.  Finding all of the knick-knacks would come later.

I arrived in the staff room bright and early on Monday morning. The co-conspirators were sipping their coffee waiting to see my reaction.  I pretended that nothing had happened.  I didn’t utter a word about the chaos that they had wreaked on my living quarters.

Slowly but surely I recovered most of the antiques, ornaments and paintings.  Some of them I found in the tall pine trees surrounding the house.  But I couldn’t be 100% certain that everything had been recovered.  I needed to see the pictures that they had taken.  Finally, on Friday afternoon, at the end of the school day, I confronted them.  I swore at them; they laughed and they gave me the pictures.  On the weekend I put everything back in its rightful place.

Every so often, I will see a dish of Jell-O sitting in a display cooler in a restaurant.  One of these days, I think I will try a bowl for old time’s sake.

Any colour but yellow.