Out Come the Knives

What’s on my mind? A humbling (but in retrospect, hilarious) experience I once had on the stage of the Pacific National Exhibition. Perhaps if the place had been called the Pacific National Inhibition, I wouldn’t have agreed to do what I agreed to do. 

Although I’d never suggested it, my newspaper column of many years ago prompted everyone to assume I was an expert at everything. 

I was (and still am) an expert at nothing (except secretly scarfing down chocolate éclairs in the privacy of our bedroom closet). Thanks to my supposed expertise, the PNE asked me to demonstrate how to chop parsley ultra-fast (WHUP!-WHUP-WHUP!). This was in the days of the “Domestic Arts” building. Coulda been worse. Coulda been the “Martial Arts” building.

“How hard can it be?” I thought. As things turned out, very hard. 

My performance was an embarrassment (“Lemmee see … If you turn the stalks this way and the shaggy stuff that way, you should be able to …” (WHUP!) 

“AIYEE!” 

I was led off the stage with blood spurting from my finger to Seattle, Texas, and Brazil. 

The one and only other time I’ve been asked to demonstrate my impressive life skills was a stint on a fund-raising telethon. At the time, I had a very strong allergy to cat dander. 

So what happened? Why, I don’t know, but some idiot carried a fluffy, crated cat onstage. With the TV cameras rolling, my eyes bugged out and I clutched my throat, having inconveniently stopped breathing. 

I was quickly dragged off the stage. 

I must say, the ambulance attendants who poked some needle into some miscellaneous part of my body were very nice.

©  Nicole Parton, 2020