It was going to be big. Actually, it was going to be Big’s fat older cousin, Colossal. The Prince’s Ball was rumoured to be one unlike any there had ever been – or ever will be, as economists predicted the whole Kingdom would dip into a four year recession following the shindig.
The purpose of the entire affair was to celebrate the opening of the Gate between The Kingdom and Earth. Ever since each of the two parallel universes became aware of each other, (through a series of accidents really, but nonetheless the historians made some names great and sprinkled grandeur where there was none before…) it was decided by leaders of both realms that all would benefit from the potential trade that could occur if peace was established from the get-go. Thus the Prince declared (very publicly) that he would host the greatest banquet in the history of The Kingdom to ‘get to know’ his ‘brothers from the other realm’
Famous people should shut up sometimes.
By the time he wished he could eat his words, major inter-realm treaties had been signed based on his claim, and it seemed like the unsteady and uncertain state of peace balanced on the deliverance of this first bold promise. Almost immediately, a five hundred thousand strong army of party planners, cleaners, butlers, security guards, court entertainers, inter-cultural dietary experts, chefs, and waiters began preparing for the monumental occasion. The Kingdom’s gold reserves had been fully extracted in order to fund the budget which had to be redrawn on a daily basis – the zeros seemed to simply add themselves to the initial figure. Many plans were drafted and each was rehearsed by all the participants mentioned until a Grand Overseer approved of one.
For Sylvester, all the organising was a far cry from his job washing dishes at the local MacDonald's in Cape Town. He was one of the many ordinary folk who had crossed the Gate with dreams of fresh work opportunity in the height of the 2009 global recession on Earth. He was employed as a waiter, and found it far more challenging than waiting tables on Earth. There was even choreography! Each course of the meals was to be served in tune to music composed especially for the event by the best musicians in the land. (In the Kingdom, Sylvester had to get used to people using the phrase ‘best x in the land’). The guest list was to include iconic members of each of the two realms – politicians, celebrities, scientists, philosophers, sports and other revered sectors of human society. Sylvester looked forward to bragging to his friends back home that he brushed shoulders with the worlds finest. Well, less ‘brushed shoulders’ and more ‘double reverse spun’ above them carrying trays of precariously balanced hors d’oeuvres.
The day had arrived. The Grand Hall was complete (more or less – there were still some last minute painting being done in the corners by a very nervous looking skinny old man) and the guests were expected to arrive any minute. According to the schedule, each guest was to be escorted to their seats by page boys. When all guests were seated, Phase One, the entertainment slot, would begin. The Prince would make his opening speech, and then Phase Two, the meals, would be served.
The Food Overseer, or the F.O., was pacing up and down the waiter line, occasionally switching ranks to check and double check that the chefs and other food preparation crew were in position. He was a strange bald man with a large orange, neat moustache. His eyes were deadpan calm, but a slight drip of sweat from his moustache revealed his nervousness. It was definitely getting noisier outside the kitchen…
“Right, people!” Sylvester jumped at the high pitched voice of the F.O. – he would never get used to the fact that it belonged to such a tall man. “We begin counting from minus 900 seconds… NOW! This is not a drill!” His eyes seemed to scrape across the waiter line, searching for weakness. As luck would have it, a bead of sweat made its way down Sylvester’s nose and off the tip just as the F.O.’s eyes met his. He frowned. “No. Screw. Ups.”
And with that vote of confidence, time had run out – the doors opened to a burst of cheering, applause and music. The waiters promptly filed out, picking up the trays of hors d’oeuvres on their way. Sylvester counted the steps as he went; listening to the music he had heard so much that it was the official soundtrack of his dreams. The hardest part was making the entrance, as each waiter had to achieve an impressive spinning kick with toes pointed at 90 degrees while balancing the trays on their fingertips.
One two three, kick. Yes! He executed the move perfectly. The rest of the Phase One sequence was easier. He relaxed a little and took a good look around the room. He could barely keep his composure as he took in the guest list! It felt like he was watching the news, as the faces he had seen in the media popped out at him in High Definition 3D graphics. Was the Queen of England really right there with Fergie from Black Eyed Peas? Michael Phelps? Natalie du Toit? Kim Kardashian!? Unbelievable…
Then he began to notice a strange trend. Who was in charge of seating? Nelson Mandela looked less relaxed than usual. Possibly because he had been seated across from the famous psychologist Philip Zimbardo – designer of the Stanford Prison Experiment. Madiba, who had spent 27 years in prison, would have to find something in common with him… Sylvester moved along the table, following the choreography to the last step and saw something else strange. The Dalai Lama of Tibet was seated by President Hu Jintao of China. They looked equally as awkward – Sylvester even caught a short exchange:
Jintao: Pass the salt. Please.
Dalai Lama: (pause) why don’t you just take it? This is what you do, correct?
Uh oh, thought Sylvester. This could turn ugly… next he saw that Michael Jordan, voted best athlete in the world, had to make small talk with Stephen Hawking, a genius who was practically fully paralysed. An anti-gay politician was seated next to George Michael, Paris Hilton across from British singing sensation Susan Boyle…. what was going on here?? With each of these pairs it seemed there was inbuilt tension. Coincidence?
By the end of Phase Two things were getting downright bristly, with most guests resorting to talking about the weather in order to keep behaviour kosher. Suddenly there was an announcement. “Guests!” spoke the Prince from a rotating raised podium in the centre of the hall. “I have been informed that there is a surprise addition to our entertainment! For those who are not familiar with Marty Martini, he is the most famous magician in all the land! (Sylvester groaned.) He has prepared a trick for us today.” Everyone, including the staff, glanced around in anticipation to this unrehearsed development.
Sylvester felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to face the biggest shock of his life. It was – an elephant. The tap was from its enormous amazingly flexible trunk; its tusks were an impressive pair even for an elephant and its small eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief. He should have seen this as a warning, because a moment later it wrapped its trunk around Sylvester’s leg and promptly flipped him upside down up in the air. The entire hall erupted in applause and laughter, which increased in volume as the skinny old man who had been doing ‘last minute painting’ stood up on the beast’s head giving a low bow.
Sylvester felt blood rushing to his head as he begun to appreciate once more why he didn’t like theme parks. Just when he was sure he was going to pass out, he fell to the ground in a crumbled heap. His hand went to his head and he blinked several times to clear the disorientation. When he took in his surroundings again, the elephant was gone. The guests were still laughing at him, pure mirth on their faces. In fact, when he looked back at the Dalai Lama and the Chinese president they were hugging each other, tears of laughter streaming down their faces. There were similar reactions from Michael Jordan and Steven Hawking, Paris Hilton and Susan Boyle, and Mandela and Zimbardo.
It looked like the tension was gone completely. The proverbial ‘Elephant in the Room’ had disappeared along with the real elephant. The guests finally had something in common – laughing at Sylvester. Historians were already scribbling madly in the corners of the room, recording the moment that inter-realm and international unity was instantly achieved by the clever trick!
Too bad it was at his expense.
I was aware that not everyone would be able to relate to some of the humour, but perhaps I should tell you that this was an entry into a short story competition in Cape Town, South Africa, whereby we were given a topic - The Elephant in the Room - and told to write 1500 words about it (I didn't win by the way, but chin up!). The word limitation hindered my freedom to explain and describe, just had to keep the story moving. But I guess there are no excuses now that its not restricted by competition rules. I will look at it again and see how best to edit it for a wider audience.
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