Hell for the Holidays: Ghost of Labor Day Past

How many unfortunate souls got lost forever on the way to the park?

How many crazed souls were driven to the brink of madness by excessive family proximity? Killed by egg salad teeming with salmonella or botulism? Frightened to death by the condition of the park port-a-potty? Harassed to death by fat, aggressive geese who roost on the picnic tables?

As people eat, argue, play Frisbee and fight off yellow jackets and wasps, a Ghost of Labor Day Past materializes from behind an overflowing trash can. His is a terrifying visage: charcoal briquettes for eyes; a jello mold on his head; a robe made from cheery holiday napkins. Geese harass the apparition, pecking his legs and feet. ”O’ park patrons, do not take’th thou Labor Day in vain, for ‘tis a paid holiday and a long weekend. Rejoice’th in thine fellowship. Argue’th not over the temperature of thine grill; refrain’th from nasty comments on the potluck . . . get’th these geese outta here!”

Picnickers stare in slack-jawed awe at the sight. “Do you see that?”

“Mommy, who is that funny man?” a little girl asks. “Is that Uncle Louie?”

“Hush now . . . be nice to the ghost, dear. “

The Ghost of Labor Day Past then fades, slowly dematerializing, and soars toward the duck pond, riding a ghostly barbeque grill. Then he is gone.

“Did you see that?”

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