Beer, Bobby, and Bruises

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NEW PROMPT:
Write a COMEDY Story or Poem about some sort of misadventure on a river trip (canoe, kayak, raft, or any "boat").
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A few years ago, my boss arranged a canoe outing for his employees. We planned on meeting in Healdsburg early on a warm, August morning and travel down the river to Windsor for a picnic lunch. After loading the half a dozen canoes with cases of beer and a few other essentials, the excited children and adults piled in, ready to start down the winding Russian River.

“Judith,” Anthony called out, “can you paddle?”

“Um, I’ve never done it, but I’m game to try. It looks easy.” With these confident words, I carefully got onto the back seat of one of the gray, metal canoes. Anthony and Jackie, two people I shared a cubicle with at work, sat down on the middle and front seats respectively, and we were off.

Two minutes later, we were circling round and round, watching the other canoes moving off down the river away from us. “Judith, why don’t you change places with Anthony?” Jackie tried to hide her displeasure, but the sharp inflection in her voice let me know what she thought of my inadequate paddling skill.

I could see Anthony trying to hide a grin, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. At work, Jackie tended to be extremely bossy, and we both knew she would live up to that reputation today at the slightest excuse.

Anthony climbed out of the canoe and swam the short distance to where I still sat holding the treacherous paddle. While he steadied the canoe to keep it from rocking too much and flipping Jackie and me into the river, I crawled forward and managed to reach the middle bench seat. There was nothing at all graceful about my maneuvering that short distance, and all three of us breathed sighs of relief when we were once again on our way.

Because of the California drought that year, the Russian River’s level was much lower than normal. The canoes didn’t glide effortlessly over the rushing water like my boss hoped for when he planned this excursion. Instead, we bumped along over rocks and ducked branches coming out from the banks when we got too close. The sun beat down on the sweating people paddling, and only the youngest children retained their early excitement.

Suddenly, one of the canoes holding three adults and a little boy tipped over, spilling everyone and everything into the water.

“Save the beer!” called out some men in nearby canoes. They were almost crying at seeing the case of beer bobbing on top of the water before slowly sinking.

“Save Bobby.” This came from a woman in another canoe. “He’s more important than the beer.”

The adults from the capsized canoe, all slightly drunk men, were trying to make up their minds, the beer or little Bobby. Rescuing the boy won out, but we all saw it was a painful decision for them to make. Some day in the future, some lucky person would find a full case of Coors resting on the bottom of Russian River. Thankfully, there was more then enough beer in the other canoes to make up for this loss.

A few more miles down the river, our canoe suffered another mishap. Jackie had steered us to one side of the river in the hopes of finding fewer rocks near the bank. Instead, the water carried us under a waterlogged tree branch where the canoe jammed tight. No amount of paddling budged us, and eventually we decided to get out of the trapped canoe to dig free the metal monster. The branch did its best to fight back, covering all three of us with bloody scratches. Thank goodness the river water washed the blood off, but the painful stinging remained.

After reaching our destination a couple hours later, it was a relief to join the others for lunch. Once out of the canoe, we became part of the adult symphony of groans caused by aching muscles and sore bums.

Earlier in the day, employees not interested in the canoe ride drove to the site with baskets of food and drink, including more beer. On seeing that picnic spread out on the sandy beach, we fell on the feast like a swarm of hungry locust. Now, I’m not a person who enjoys being out in the sun, but I was determined to be a good sport. The sand in the food I could live with, the warm beer was better than nothing, but coming in first on two of the silly spur-of-the-moment contests held by my boss after lunch pushed my good humor to the limit. First, I easily won for having the most bruises from going over the river’s many rocks.

This was okay since I came in as runner-up for being the most sunburned. The winner went to the hospital later on suffering from a spectacular, but painful, sunburn mainly covering his upper body. I guess I lost since I didn’t go topless like he did. With the muggy heat that day, I will admit I was tempted.

It was the second win where I felt insulted since I was a bit overweight at the time. “Judith wins,” my tactless boss said with a big grin and waving an empty can of beer in my direction, “for being the best ballast today, even better than a case of beer.”

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Microsoft Word count = 900

"The Writer's Cramp"  daily winner for 07/12/08
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