"Guns Bad"

When I was a kid, I was a big fan of the "Tarzan" movies. The old flicks from the 30's and 40's shown via the television on Saturday mornings. Johnny Weismuller was the best Tarzan. And Maureen O'Sullivan, who was the mother of Mia Farrow, was the best Jane. And Johnny Sheffield was "Boy," and Cheetah was the friendly and intelligent chimpanzee, who warned of danger with an impish shrill.

The flicks were great. Normally, the plot revolved around a safari that comes into Tarzan's domain. A few of the party are devious and up to no good. The African tribes surround and capture the bad guys, and Tarzan-sometimes relunctantly-has to save them.

I wrote a foray into the infantile a few years ago when I worked for Piccadilly Cafeteria. It was called "Guns Bad." Here it is, courtesy of copy and paste:

"I just found a bone in my trout almondine. I'd like to see the manager," came the reply from the guest seated in the Piccadilly Cafeteria dining room.

"I'm empowered to help you, miss. Can I get you another piece? Or something else, maybe?" said the courteous waitress.

"No, I want to see the manager!! And pronto."

The wait staff attendant sees the new manager-in-training and flags him down. She tells the m.i.t. about the situation. Hurriedly, he responds to her distress signal.

Before he can open his mouth, the guest lets fly with a venom laced attack.

"I can't believe I found a bone in my filet of fish. What kind of a place are you running here? What if I had swallowed the bone and it lodged in my throat. And I couldn't breathe. You'll definitely hear from my lawyer. And I want your regional manager's name and number. I wanted the manager, not a manager in training. What's your name?"

She glances at his nametag.

"Me, Tarzan. New M.I.T."

"Garcon. This isn't a french restaurant. Are you making fun of me. I want the home office number. I'll talk to the CEO if I have to. How did an insolent imbecile, like yourself, get a job here in the first place?" The guest rambles on and on. Other guests are watching.
Tarzan has heard enough.

"Ungawa. Ungawa, guest." He points to the exits. "Ungawa."

The general manager arrives and notices the commotion. He quickly intervenes. He guest meals the guests' check. Who is crying. 911 is called. The guest is on the verge of a breakdown. The g.m. methodically restores order and motions Tarzan into the office.

"Just part of the job, Tarzan. Take the rest of the day off and go home. See Jane and Boy. Relax. Cool off."

"Tarzan definitely cool off if he go home. Jane is going through difficult menopause. House like Arctic. Me see pictures of ice and snow in book. Me long for hot air of jungle. Why I work for Piccadilly. Work on steam table and around hot ovens. At home like igloo. Saw in same book."

"Whatever, Tarzan. But some friendly advice. Cool the 'ungawa.'"

"Me go home. To Boy and Cheetah. And Simba."

"What about Jane?"

"She seeing lawyer. Me not know what for."

Tarzan arrives home. Boy and Cheetah are wrapped in thermal blankets. "Me home early. Brrr."

"Boy," Tarzan continues. "Remember when I saved you from huge crocodile back in jungle. And me got scars to prove it. And me wrestled with him for hours. Remember?"

"Yes, Tarzan."

"That was nothing compared to M.I.T. at Piccadilly. Remember when I saved our home from all woman tribe? One not like men."

"Yes, Tarzan."

"Same thing."

"Let's go hunting, Tarzan. That'll cheer you up. I'll get my bow and arrow. When will you let me buy a gun like my friends have," says Boy.

"Guns bad. Men bad. Me feel bad. Go find elephant burial ground. Me need to be alone."

A high octave yodeling sound is heard throughout the subdivision. Tarzan has
unleashed his patented sound of anger.

"Another blanket, Cheetah?" says Boy. "Tarzan may be gone for a long time."

Ungawa.



P.S. "Tarzan's New York Adventure" was one of my favorites.