Yesterday was my company’s 71st anniversary and we throw a big party. We have a DJ, a dunking booth and a giant BBQ. Those who actually showed up on the Friday of a 3-day weekend had a blast. The only downside was that my volleyball team didn’t repeat as company champions. After breezing our way through the tournament during the last month, my team only had three players during the championship game and we just couldn’t cover the entire court.
During the celebration there were a number of games. I was first to recognize the Fairly Odd-Parents theme song so I got a bag of Twizzlers. Then when it came down to name the college fight song, (I am almost embarrassed to admit this) I knew them all…Notre Dame, USC, and Texas; so I got some Twix and Milky Way bars. There was also a raffle where everyone received one free raffle ticket. I was moderately excited when I won some fireworks. I have never been a big firework person because I hate spending so much money on those things, but I gladly accepted the box.
In Utah, the fireworks that shoot up into the air and explode have always been illegal…until this year. I guess our government was tired of everyone going to Wyoming and spending their money over there and still bringing them across the border. Anyways, I cam home with my box and I couldn’t quite figure it out. It said there was 12 shots that would shoot flaming balls and reports. I’m still not sure what reports are, but they must be awesome. There was only one fuse on the outside of the box so I figured it wasn’t a box with a bunch of fireworks…but instead you would light it and then it would shoot all 12 flaming balls and reports. I assumed that it would shoot up sparks from the box…boy was I wrong.
After the Vader-Romeril first annual* talent show in the afternoon, at around 9:45 at night about four families from our circle gathered to watch what was sure to be a boring fire-cracker display. I lit the fuse and took off running, settled into my chair next to Emily, and then immediately coiled back as a deafening boom and explosion shot from the box. Then a loud explosion of fireballs spread across the sky, lighting up our entire circle. Emily lept out of her chair and found herself drenched from the water that she had been holding. Children threw their hands to their ears and others began to cry. My neighbor said it was the perfect Clark Griswold moment, and I knew there were still 11 more on their way.
By the time the last explosion started to dim away with flaming pieces of cardboard falling to the ground, there was a stunned silence and then a collective “That was awesome!” I thought “If these type of fireworks are now legal, someone is going to die.” Within moments other neighbors were hitting the streets trying to figure out what was going on…and those of us who knew, were starting a collection so that we can buy a whole lot more. Happy Fourth of July.
* When I said “first annual” it was to annoy a good friend of mine because there can be no such thing as a first annual. Something can’t be annual until the second year…until then it must remain the inaugural.