I was walking along a dark, wind-swept
street in downtown Torrington. Suddenly, I heard a voice from an alley say,
“Hey pal, you wanna buy some primo bacon?”
I paused, looked toward the guy, and
said, “What are you, a cop? You trying to entrap me?”
He said, “No, man, I just thought you
might want to enjoy some awesome stuff. I just got a shipment in from the
Republic of Texas.”
I looked around to see if anyone else
was on the street. We were alone. Then I cautiously stepped into the alley, out
of range of the security cameras on the street. “Can I take a sniff?” I asked.
The guy smiled and unzipped his coat.
He had a total of two pounds of bacon stuffed in his sweatshirt, wrapped in
four separate plastic bags. Trying to make casual conversation, the guy said,
“You know, ever since that report came out back in 2015, which said bacon is as
bad as cigarettes and asbestos, it’s been really hard to get your hands on this
stuff.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I
replied.
He took one of the plastic bags and
slid the zip-lock seal open. “Then when President Hillary appointed Bernie
Sanders as Minister of Health,” he continued, “we realized bacon soon would be
outlawed. Sure enough, Prohibition went into effect last year, and a lot of
desperate people have been struggling ever since to get their fix.”
“You’re telling me,” I exclaimed while
breathing deeply, my nose practically inside the plastic bag. The aroma was
exquisite. Oh, what delightful memories filled my mind as I smelled that bacon.
Sunday mornings with bacon sizzling in a frying pan. BLTs for lunch. And best
of all, those breakfast buffets with the amazing stainless steel container
practically overflowing with a mountain of bacon. Of course, they always put
that bacon tray at the end of the buffet line, and as the late Jim Gaffigan
pointed out some years ago, you’d look at your plate and realize there wasn’t
much room for any bacon and you’d lament, “What am I doing with all this
worthless fruit? I should’ve waited!” (Sadly, Mr. Gaffigan’s comedy routine about
bacon was deemed subversive, and he was found guilty of crimes against humanity
and executed by the Ministry of Health earlier this year.)
Finally, I looked up at the man and
smiled. “How much?”
He said, “I can tell you’re a
connoisseur of bacon, so for you, only 50 bucks per bag.”
“Oh c’mon,” I said, “that’s way too
much. This stuff is worth no more than 30 bucks.”
He said, “Are you kidding? This stuff
is prime. Do you realize how much it would cost if Texas hadn’t seceded from
the Union because of the Bacon Law? It’s our only source for the good stuff. I
know Canada is closer, but their bacon ain’t real. It’s just weird ham.” He
paused, then said, “I’ll tell you what, how about 40 per bag?”
I said, “Deal. Gimme two bags.” As I
handed him four 20-dollar bills, suddenly the bright beam of a flashlight
blasted in my face and a loud voice screamed, “Freeze!”
Two cops leaped from the shadows. One
grabbed my arm, and the other grabbed the bacon dealer.
“Officer, officer,” I yelled. “It’s
not what it looks like. Please, you gotta understand, I wasn’t doing anything
wrong!”
One of the cops looked at me and
snarled, “Shut up! We heard everything.” Then he turned toward the bacon dealer
and said, “I’ll give you 50 per bag.”
The dealer smiled and said, “Clancy! I
thought that was you. Sure, how many bags do you want?”
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