My Life as a Bigfoot Breath Mint

by Bill Myers

  “Yeah, right,” Burt smirked. “Your office is a great place for nonstop, action-packed boredom.”

  Immediately Carrie came to Dad’s defense. “Well, I think it’s a pretty building,” she said, taking his hand.

  “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

  “Even if you don’t ever do anything cool and neat like Uncle Max.”

  We hardly noticed Dad wince as Uncle Max led us to a giant tree. “This will only take a few minutes,” he said as he twisted a branch. Suddenly a door popped open, right out of the back of the trunk.

  “Cool,” we all said.

  “Come on, follow me.”

  We were pretty impressed as we followed him into the tree and walked down a steep spiral staircase. Well, everyone else walked. I was busy doing my best falling routine.

  BANG-BOUNCE-TUMBLE . . . SPLAT

  The banging, bouncing, and tumbling were, of course, my soft little body on the not-so-soft stairs. But I couldn’t place the SPLAT . . . until I looked up from the floor and saw Uncle Max’s face.

  I gasped.

  “Nice job,” Uncle Max said, carefully wiping off my Slusho-Ice.

  “I’m sorry,” I cried, expecting him to blow up.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He grinned as he grabbed the paper cone from my hand and dumped the Slusho-Ice back into it. “It can get pretty warm down here. Thanks for helping to keep me cool.”

  It was just a little thing, but it proved how incredible this guy was. Not only was he superrich and superfamous, but he also knew how to have a super good time and stay supercool (in more ways than one).

  I couldn’t help glancing at Dad. The difference was so obvious, it was painful. I mean, if the Slusho-Ice had hit Dad, he would have given me a week-long lecture about being more careful. I know this sounds lousy and everything, but a part of me actually wished that Uncle Max could have been my dad.

  Of course, I felt pretty guilty and tried to shrug it off. But the thought just kept coming back.

  We headed down the tunnel and saw lots of other tunnels branching off in different directions. I guess they weren’t really tunnels. They were more like hallways with rounded ceilings made out of smooth concrete. And they were lit as brightly as any office building.

  We passed other employees. Of course, they all knew my uncle. “Hi, Max.” “Good afternoon, Mr. McDoogle.” “Have a great show, Max.”

  There were also plenty of folks dressed up like cartoon characters. Most of them carried their cartoon heads under their arms.

  “Hey, Max.”

  We turned to see a giant Sasquatch approach. He was about seven feet tall. He had long apelike arms and stringy brown fur. Except for his human head, he could have easily passed for a real Bigfoot monster.

  “Oh, hi, Sid,” Uncle Max said. Then after introducing us, he explained that Sid was the main bad guy in his stunt show.

  “That’s what I gots to talk to ya about,” Sid said. “I think Julie’s comin’ down with the flu.”

  “She’ll still be able to do the show, won’t she?” Uncle Max asked.

  “Maybe today’s show, but we’ll need a replacement for tomorrow.”

  “What about her understudy?” Uncle Max asked.

  “Gots an out of town job this week.”

  “Great,” Uncle Max sighed. “Well, we need somebody.”

  Sid the Sasquatch glanced down at me, then grinned. “Your nephew here’s about the right size.” Max turned and looked at me as Bigfoot asked, “What say, son? Feel like being my helpless victim for tomorrow’s show?”

  My eyes shot up to Uncle Max. “Can I?! I mean is that possible?”

  Uncle Max broke into a smile. “I don’t know why not. I’ve noticed that you’re pretty good at screaming and falling down.”

  “I practice all the time.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “I’m not so sure, Max. I mean is that sort of thing safe?”

  I rolled my eyes. There was Dad again, busy being a dad.

  “Of course it’s safe,” Max said.

  Dad scowled.

  “Don’t be such a worrywart, Herbie. He’ll be in less danger doing the show than riding home on the freeway.”

  “Particularly if he’s riding with Max,” Sid teased.

  “Can I, Dad?” I asked. “Can I?”

  “I don’t know. . . . Your mother and I need to talk about it.”

  I had two choices. I could stomp my foot and sulk—which stopped working about the time I turned four. Or I could pretend to be an adult and wait.

  I voted for the latter. The rest of the underground tour went by in a blur. All I could think about was starring in a real live stunt show with Uncle Max. And if all I had to do was fall down a lot, I mean, let’s face it, I’d been preparing to play that part all my life.

  I don’t remember a lot of the tour. But I do remember going into a giant computer room that controlled all the rides. It had tons of monitors and more flashing lights than the latest Star Trek movie. I also remembered that I no longer had the rest of my melting Slusho-Ice.

  I must have set it down on one of the computer consoles when I tied my shoe. I just don’t remember if I picked it up and threw it away. Maybe I forgot and left it there to melt on top of the computer. . . .

  I didn’t know then, but unfortunately, I’d know soon.

  Chapter 4

  The Ride of a Lifetime

  We still had a couple of hours to kill before Uncle Max’s stunt show, so we hit the rides. Of course Burt and Brock wanted to go on all of the stand-in-line-for-three-days-and-then-have-to-leave-just-when-you-get-to-the-front-’cause-you-have-to-go-tothe-restroom rides.

  But since I’ve got a touchy stomach (I break out in a bad case of puke-itis just watching the ceiling fan in our living room go around), we decided to split up. The twins and Dad went one direction; Carrie, Mom, and I headed another.

  I knew it was risky business hanging out with a seven-year-old. If I wasn’t careful, I’d wind up on one of those lame flying animal rides or on some enchanted boat voyage. (The scariest part is wondering if you’ll die from boredom.)

  So, before she had a chance to think, I quickly pointed out some cool gas-powered cars. The miniature highway wound all over the place. “Let’s check those out,” I said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “They’re just stupid cars.”

  “I know, but I’ll be getting my license in a few years and—”

  “If you live through the seventh grade,” she reminded me.

  I nodded. “Exactly, and if I don’t, this will be the closest I ever get to driving before I die. You wouldn’t want to deprive me of that, would you?”

  It was a long shot, so I had to put a little catch in my voice and a tear in my eye.

  Luckily, she fell for it. (Seven-year-olds can be so gullible.) Ten minutes later, an attendant buckled Carrie and me into a gas-powered, two-seater mini sports car.

  Unfortunately Mom stood off to the side, wringing her hands and doing her mom thing.

  “Are you sure those are safe?” she called out to the attendant.

  I glanced around in embarrassment. “Mom . . .”

  “Absolutely,” the attendant called back. “There’s a bar running down the center of the road, so the car can’t go off.”

  “What about speed?” she shouted.

  “Mom . . .”

  “They have their own gas pedal. But if the cars get going too fast, a remote radio signal kicks in and takes over.”

  “What if they have to stop for a potty brea—”

  “MOM, PLEASE . . .”

  She gave me a weak smile. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” the attendant called back. “Kids have been riding these for years without a single accident.”

  That did little to ease Mom’s fears. After all, he’d never seen the World President of Dork-oids Anonymous behind the wheel.

  The attendant gave us a running push and said, “Have a fan-fan-fantastic ride at F
antasmo World.”

  And we were off.

  What an experience! That powerful ¾ horse engine throbbed under the hood. The wind flew through my hair. The trees blurred as we raced—

  “C’mon Wally,” Carrie complained, “I can walk faster than this.”

  “All right, all right.” I tromped on the accelerator. Raw power surged through the vehicle. The acceleration pushed us deep into our seats. Before I knew it, we were up to 3½, maybe even 4 miles an hour.

  And then it happened. Little did I know it then, but my melting Slusho-Ice down in the master control room had been working overtime. Carefully it had melted its way deep into the inner workings of the computer system, until finally . . .

  “Wally, what’s wrong with that music?”

  I gave a listen. It was the same silly theme song that had played ever since we arrived:

  It’s Fantasmo after all,

  It’s Fantasmo after all,

  It’s Fantasmo after all,

  It’s a Fan-fan-tasmo World.

  But now it was going so fast it sounded like the singing Chipmunks breathing helium. Faster and faster it played. Higher and higher the voices rose.

  But it wasn’t only the music that was going faster . . .

  “Look at that!” I pointed.

  Overhead, the sky ride had also picked up speed. Some of the people on board had started to panic. Others began to scream.

  “And over there!” Carrie pointed to the nearby merry-go-round. It had started to spin so fast that people had to fight to hang on.

  Thanks to my time-released Slusho-Ice, melting goo had shorted out the computer, making everything go faster.

  Everything including us.

  “Slow down, Wally! Slow down!”

  “I’m trying,” I shouted as I hit the brakes for the hundredth time. But nothing happened.

  Cars raced by. Some of the kids in them were screaming. Others were crying.

  “Slow down, Wally! You’re scaring me!”

  “I’m scaring you? What about me?”

  The faster we went, the harder it was to steer. Now it’s true, my eye-hand coordination isn’t the best. (I hold the world’s record for the greatest number of quarters lost per video game. Translation: I usually crash those jet fighter planes before they even get off the ground.) But this was ridiculous. If it wasn’t for that bar running down the middle of the road, there was no way we could have stayed on the track.

  And still we picked up speed.

  Carrie began screaming nonstop. As far as I could tell, she didn’t even take time out to breathe.

  Faster and faster the road raced by.

  Faster and faster my life flashed before my eyes.

  And then I saw it. Actually, we both saw it.

  “It’s a hairpin curve!” Carrie screamed. “Turn, Wally, turn!”

  “I’m turning. I’m turning.”

  I cranked that wheel as far to the left as possible. Unfortunately, the roadway turned to the right.

  SCRAAAAAPE . . .

  SCREEEEECH . . .

  K-BAM!

  I’m not sure how it happened. But we were going fast—so fast that our car jumped the metal bar down the center of the road, and we flew off the track.

  The good news was we were no longer on the ride that had gone berserk. The bad news was we were still in a car going berserk.

  Going berserk and picking up speed . . .

  First there were the bushes and shrubs.

  K-THWACK, K-THWACK . . .

  SCRRREEEEEEAAMMMMM!

  (Thank you, Carrie, I didn’t need to use that ear again, anyway.)

  Then we raced down the main street of Fantasmo World. “Get out of the way!” I yelled. “Get out of the way! Get out of the—”

  K-SMACK, K-SMACK, K-SMACK.

  Those of course were the slow pedestrians and

  “AUGGHHHH!”

  RRRRIIIIIIP . . .

  the Galactic Space Queen, strolling down the street in her long flowing robes. Well, she had been in long flowing robes. Now they were trailing off our front bumper, and she was running for the nearest bushes.

  But, the fun and games had barely begun.

  “There’s Daddy!” Carrie pointed. “And Burt and Brock!”

  I turned my head just in time to see them standing in the long line we were zooming past.

  And our brothers, being so kind and extremely intelligent, immediately began to scream, “Hey, no cuts! No cuts!”

  I faced forward again and saw why they were concerned. We were heading directly into the most popular ride in the park—the Castle of Horrors.

  “I’m not old enough to go on this ride!” Carrie screamed.

  “I wish I wasn’t,” I shouted. “Look out!” I waved at the ticket takers. “Look out!”

  They leaped off the drawbridge and into the moat. I would have offered them a towel (or at least a nice Galactic Space Queen robe), but we were too busy crashing through the castle’s gate to be polite.

  First up was the cobwebbed entrance hall, complete with all sorts of goblins and ghosts reflected in a giant mirror.

  CRASH! TINKLE-TINKLE-TINKLE . . .

  Well, they had been in the mirror. Now I hoped they could find some good low-rent housing to relocate to.

  Next came the suits of armor. I don’t want to say we destroyed all of them. But if you ever need spare parts for a pot-bellied stove or armored tank, or just want to re-side your house in sheet metal, feel free to give me a call.

  Next came the banquet hall, music room, and library. I’ll save you the gory details. But if you call that same number, we’ll throw in legs of lamb, piano keys (your choice of white or black), and more books than a bookstore.

  Of course I was still trying to steer, but that was pretty pointless. After destroying most of the castle, we headed up a giant circular staircase, wh-wh-wh-ich wa-wa-was pr-pr-pre-ty-ty-ty bum-bum-bum-py-py-py. Then I turned left instead of right (so what else is new?), and

  K-RASH!

  We smashed through a giant stained-glass window.

  The good news was we were finally out of that creepy haunted castle. The bad news was we were sailing fifty feet above the ground. But as luck would have it, we didn’t fall all the way back down. Oh no, that would have been too easy (except for the doctor bills). Instead,

  CA-LANG!

  We landed directly on the rails to the world’s biggest roller coaster.

  Now, I don’t want to say it’s a scary ride. But I’ve heard that as you wait in line, the overhead monitors give a crash course in CPR, just in case your neighbor’s heart decides to stop.

  “Do something!” my sister screamed. “Do something!”

  “I have been!” I shouted.

  “Then stop doing something!”

  The car stayed glued to the tracks as we went down and up and down and up and down and up. The only trouble was, when I was going down, my stomach was going up . . .

  And up . . .

  And up . . .

  And . . .

  Then, just when my lunch was about to make a return appearance (and believe me, those corn dogs weren’t so great the first time around), we finally leveled off.

  But not for long.

  We began to head back up. Higher and higher and higher we rose. I’m not going to complain and say we were too high. But I do remember having to duck when we passed under the moon. Finally, mercifully, the tracks stopped sloping up.

  That was the good news.

  The bad news was they started sloping down.

  I opened my mouth to scream. Unfortunately, the only thing that came out was . . .

  I tried again. I opened my mouth and . . .

  Still nothing.

  I guess the sound of a scream doesn’t catch up if you’re falling faster than the speed of sound. (See how educational these disasters can be?)

  Figuring I’d be meeting God in the next couple of seconds, I closed my eyes and asked Him to forgive me for everything I’d ever
done wrong. I’d just gotten to smoking those crayons behind the garage at age six when I felt Carrie’s elbow dig into my ribs.

  “Not now Carrie.”

  She dug harder.

  “Carrie, I said not—”

  But I could tell she was pretty serious (either that or she was practicing to be an open-heart surgeon). So I opened my eyes.

  I wished I hadn’t.

  There, coming up the same tracks we were going down was a roller coaster full of people.

  They screamed.

  We screamed.

  We were thirty feet away and closing in rapidly.

  They screamed some more.

  We screamed some more.

  Twenty feet.

  I was getting a little bored with all the screaming, so I dreamed up something new.

  Fifteen feet.

  Something exciting and original.

  Ten.

  Like trying to save our lives.

  Five.

  I cranked the wheel hard to the right.

  The wheels screeched, scraped, and scranked (don’t ask), and we sailed off the tracks just as the roller coaster roared by.

  Once again we were flying through the air.

  I looked down. Below and to the right was the three-story Flaming Inferno attraction.

  “Lean to the right,” I shouted.

  “What?” Carrie cried.

  “Lean to the right. If we hit that building down there, it will break our fall.”

  Carrie nodded. We leaned for all we were worth.

  “Harder,” I shouted. “Harder!”

  It was close, but somehow we caught the edge of the roof. We hit it hard, bounced a bunch of times, and finally slid to a stop.

  We were safe. It had taken some doing, but I had saved our lives. Imagine that. Me, Wally the hero. Me, Wally the super driver. Me, Wally the—

  “Moron!” cried Carrie.

  “What?”

  “Look what you’ve done.”

  “I know what I’ve done. I’ve just saved your life by landing on this building. The least you could do is show your thanks.”

  “For what? Turning us into a human barbecue?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, Wally. This whole building. It’s on fire!”