For the 32 years I have lived in this house, the fire hydrant directly behind my driveway has practically had a target painted on its front. It was only a matter of time until someone, hopefully not me, would make a direct hit. That day finally came.
Joanne, a visiting friend, nailed the unsuspecting fire hydrant as she backed out of my driveway. The explosion was immediate and intensely powerful causing neighbors to spill from their homes to watch the unfolding spectacle.
And more help, as the crowd got bigger. Cameras appeared. Two men decked out in rubber boots, seemingly prepared for a minor flood, arrived adding a touch of the bizarre to the scene.
Since it wasn't a dangerous situation, only an inconvenient accident, jolly spirits prevailed and a theatrically inclined cop pretended to cuff Joanne as she pleaded for mercy.
With the arrival of the water department, a city worker shut off the neighborhood geyser, now named New Faithful, and people began to shuffle off to their respective homes.
Peace returned to the neighborhood; the quiet Saturday afternoon resumed.
And the battered fire hydrant, after being the center of attention for a short while, was once again relegated to obscurity, out of commission and lying forlornly on its side.