The blob first appeared on an otherwise lacklustre day; the sky was clouded over and it looked certain to rain. Little Timmy Baxter was the first to notice it there on the sidewalk. Well, if truth be told, he tripped over it on the way to school, skinning his knee.
Mrs. Baxter couldn’t figure out what it was. It looked like a dull grey blob, to be sure, and it couldn’t be moved (as Mrs. Baxter found when she tried to shoo it away with a broom). But, just what it might be made of, Mrs. Baxter couldn’t begin to say.
Ms. Baxter sent Timmy off to school and phoned City Hall. “Who would you like to talk to?” the switchboard operator politely asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Baxter answered. “Who should I talk to about a blob in the middle of the sidewalk?”
The switchboard operator didn’t know. After all, blobs don’t appear on city streets just every day, you know. After several minutes of discussion, they agreed that Mrs. Baxter should take the issue up with the Mayor, which she proceeded to do at length, saying, “How can you allow unidentified blobs on sidewalks to trip innocent children on their way to school!” and “What do we pay taxes for, if not to ensure that we do not have to deal with blobs on our sidewalks!” and even “If you don’t do something about the blob on the sidewalk, maybe, come next election time, I’ll vote for somebody who will!”
The Mayor agreed that it was a sin and a shame and, now that it had been brought to his attention, he would take immediate action and thank you very much for your concern. After a brief consultation with the City’s lawyers, he sent Jim Phelps, one of the City’s two health inspectors, to the spot. Jim investigated. “Yep,” he reported, “it’s a blob, alright.”
“But, what is it?” the Mayor wanted to know. Jim shrugged.
By this time, the blob had started to attract a small crowd. Most passersby would step around it, realize that they had never seen anything quite like it and turn back for a second look. Soon, the small group of people huddled around this piece of sidewalk was, of itself, sufficiently large to attract the attention of yet other passersby.
When the Mayor got wind of what was happening, he knew that he would have to act. Why, this could be a blob of…off radioactive stuff! It could be a hazard to life and limb (not to mention political careers!)!
A portion of the sidewalk around the blob was roped off. Folks weren’t supposed to touch the blob (although many, especially young children, did anyway). And, of course, the rope, with the hint of something dangerous that people were not supposed to see, acted as a magnet for the curious and ill-informed.
Soon, word spread, and folks from neighbouring towns and cities started to appear to catch a glimpse of the blob. Most were a bit disappointed. As the crowds continued to grow, the hucksters moved in with their “blobs in a bottle” (actually, rocks from a nearby quarry) and their “KEEP THE BLOB OF ’85 ALIVE!” t-shirts.
It would be nice to believe that all the craziness surrounding the blob was brought to it from outside the City, but, of course, the local characters had to get in on the act. Ghoulish Gertie (she of the “things beyond mortal comprehension”) insisted loudly to whoever happened to be nearby that the blob was ectoplasm, proof positive that ghosts did, indeed, walk the earth. Few paid her any mind, but she did get a nice spread in the Enquirer.
Then, the incident happened. One afternoon, a young boy, obviously thrilled by the sight of the mysterious blob, asked his mother, “Why can’t we have one of those in our city?” The woman turned her nose up and sniffed, “Why would we want one?” Well, sir, what ensued was not pretty.
It began as a shouting match between some locals who had overheard the remark and were fired up with civic pride, and some out-of-towners who felt cheated by the blob. It ended with 23 people in hospital, mostly with bruised egos. The Mayor was aghast.
At first, he considered ending the whole shebang by cleaning the blob off the street, possibly even escorting it to the City limits and tossing it into somebody else’s jurisdiction. He changed his mind, though, when it was pointed out to him that most folks who came to see the blob bought a meal or some gasoline or a souvenir before they left. Why, if looked at in the right way, the blob might be considered the best thing to happen to the City.
The Mayor wasn’t convinced, and the police put a guard on “the best thing to happen to the City.”
Best things don’t last, of course, and this was no exception. One day, an official from Environment Canada traveled all the way from Ottawa just to see the blob. One look was enough to confirm his worst fears, and he went straight to the Mayor with the news.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
The Mayor looked innocent. “Just…a blob?” he replied, waving his arms futilely. “A blob of…stuff…”
“This blob,” the official from Environment Canada, whose name was Ben, by the way, gravely stated, “is full of carcinogenic substances. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“You’re going to take it away?” the Mayor weakly asked.
Ben turned away from the Mayor’s desk, pontificating freely. “This stuff causes cancer in laboratory rats! It must have been dumped there by the chemical company down the street…oooh, that makes me angry!”
“What if we kept it away from laboratory rats?” the Mayor weakly asked further.
But, the Mayor’s desperate protestations were to no avail. The blob was removed that afternoon, and the chemical company was given a stern warning by Environment Canada not to be dumping carcinogenic blobs on city streets again. And, life goes on and a book on the experiences of the townsfolk will soon be published and the blob will soon be featured in a music video and isn’t it a shame we can’t create a safe environment in which to live?