The Men in the Yellow Slickers

What’s on my mind? The Men in the Yellow Slickers. Many years ago, during a bad patch in my life, I lost the creativity that had formerly served me well. Grappling for something to kick-start it, I began making scented candles to peddle at Christmas craft fairs. 

I actually have no idea how to make scented candles, so when suspicious customers asked, I had to admit the “scent” was wax.

I also have no idea (or aptitude, or interest) in making candles, so stuck Walmart’s cheapest into holes I’d drilled into driftwood. Voilà! Easy money. To lure customers to my Christmas craft fair table, I lit a candle, unaware it was (duh!) directly under a smoke detector.

It wasn’t long before 400 panicked customers and crafters ran for their lives after the WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP! of the smoke alarm sounded and the words “EVACUATE THE BUILDING! EVACUATE THE BUILDING!” blasted over the PA system. 

It also wasn’t long before half-a-dozen men in yellow slickers jogged into the building with axes balanced over their shoulders, presumably to smash the ceiling and beat down the blaze.

One fire fighter soon exited, holding a candle high in the air. “Whose candle is this?” he yelled. Thus ended my candle-making career. This is a true story.

What’s on my mind? The Men in the Yellow Slickers, Part II: A few years ago (not as long ago as the craft fair crisis, but still, more years ago than I have toes), on a cold March day when my late mother-in-law turned 96 (a bigger number than she and I had fingers and toes combined), I bought a massive Safeway cake on which I placed 96 candles.

This turned out not to be a very “safe way” to celebrate her big day. Inviting everyone in her retirement home to gather round a large table for a slice of cake, I lit every one of the 96 candles on the cake (You know where this is going).

The piercing scream of the smoke alarm sounded seconds later. As the staff pushed and walkered and wheeled the confused patients out the door (one even in his bed!), in (once again) jogged the men in the yellow slickers, axes on their shoulders.

While the patients shivered, I remember watching the staff huddle together for warmth, chewing the fat and puffing on their cigarets.

One fire fighter emerged to ask: “Who belongs to this birthday cake?” Someone had to take the rap. So naturally, I pinned it on my mother-in-law. This is also a true story.

© Nicole Parton, 2021