Disclaimer: No tomatoes were harmed in the making of story. Okay, some were, but they were tomatoes. It's not like they owned Phil of the Future. Me? No, I'm not a tomato. No, I don't own Phil of the Future, either. No, I don't have an excuse for that. Hey, put down that tomato! Don't you dare throw it, Pim!
Tomato Surprise
by
CraftyNotepad
"As I was saying, Class, it's not just eggs that need to be dealt with violently - beaten, boiled, cracked," related Miss Navia, Pim's old home ec. teacher attempted to focus her class of tenth graders this morning. She was on a mission and today, she acknowledged, was the most important lesson she'd ever delivered in her career. "Today, it's Tomato Surprise; however, it's the little red monsters' who'll get the surprise as we get even for the havoc these red devils have caused. A hand? 'What trouble,' you're wondering? Well, just watch this portion of a documentary I received in the mail recently. Lights, please, Mr. Diffy."
The theme music played, followed by a nervous newscaster's voice:
"... traditionally docile fruit has revolted, displaying it's true aggressive nature by severing itself from its vine to hunt down unsuspecting innocent citizens. Its intention? To devour us, be it in the market, on our once peaceful streets and sidewalks, or in our very homes. No where is safe from this omnipresent rolling red fruit, as it continues to ..."
Miss Navia only played a few minutes of the movie, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, before readdressing her students, "Yes, you've seen enough and probably heard rumors about the truth. Our Pickford, once a meager little gold rush town on the verge of disappearing, was designated as tomato containment zone by Civil Defense using their emergency powers under the Condiment Containment Act of 1953, just shortly after that historic meteorite was discovered here in Pickford by Sarah Beakman, probably the world's most famous ketchup factory worker. It was Beakman who alerted Virgil Tucci as to the rock's arrival, and he who first realized that the cosmic fragment was emitting energies which were transforming out once pleasant friends, the tomatoes, into aggressive red blobs of, of, of ... bad veggies." Yes, the teacher had done her homework, or rather, studied the phony lesson plan that had anonymously downloaded to her.
("Phil," his constant companion attracted his attention in her hushed harsh tone, "Miss N is missin' her marbles. lost a screw somewhere, a few chocolate chips have fallen off the old cookie -")
("I can see that, Keely, but what do you want me to do about it? She's the teacher.")
("Raise your hand and set her straight.")
("Nuh-uh. There's no way I'm getting involved and becoming a spectacle again.")
("Oh, really?) Miss Navia?"
"Yes, Keely? Do you need a pass?"
"Uh, no, but ... Phil has something to say. There you go, Phil. Don't be shy."
"Yes, Phil? Don't be shy," shifted the attention of Miss Navia, gullibility being her trademark.
"Um, yeah. Keely was reminding me that ... she's something of an expert on the meteor. She even portrayed Sarah Beakman in a documentary."
"Really, Keely?"
As her plan backfired in her own face, Keely looked back at her best friend who had turned his head so the instructor couldn't see him mouth the word "helping," which infuriated his partner. Oh, first, Keely's eyes had opened wide in disbelief for how he had out maneuvered her, then she squinted - not her cute squint, like when she's trying to figure out what her neighbor's cat is thinking, but in her "I'm so going to get you back, Mister" squint.
"Yes, and ... yes, but I don't think that's exactly accurate, about Pickford, the meteor, tomatoes and all that. You see, Phil, Tia, Seth, and I made a documentary about the meteor and there was nothing "red" in the film. It was even set in the fifties, so, you know, black and white - no red."
"Thank you, Keely, but you're too young to remember the "red menace" that permeated the 1950s. Those evil red tomatoes were there, trying to take over the world. Put your hand back down, Keely. Don't worry, Dear; you'll learn all about the red menace when you take history in college. Now, where was I? Owen! Where did you get popcorn during the movie? Is that real butter?"
"Yes, Miss Navia. I, uh, had this when I came in? Um, it's a part of a special diet I'm on. Yeah, this popcorn is suppose to help me be more attentive in class by making me all ears."
"Oh, alright then. Thank you, Owen. That explains why you're constantly snacking in class, but why are you sharing with Olivia?"
"Miss Navia, are we learning anything in class today?"
"Oh! Now, um, what was I saying? Let's see, I drove to school, hauled in the caged manipulatives for today's lesson, was pranked by Kyle Speckle using a \mop, received this lovely hand embroidered dishtowel from Debbie Berwick, ... Oh, yes, history!"
"Today, most of these vicious vegetables (yes - put your hand down, Mr. Wosmer - I, too, heard the narrator and I know what Mr. Angst preaches in biology, but go to any supermarket and you'll see I'm right - the tomato is not fruit. If you write otherwise on your quiz at the end of the week, you'll be marked 'wrong, wrong, wrong.' Please, look up the U. S. Congress decision of 1883. If you want to disagree, why don't you turn 18, then write your congresswoman, but even she won't be able to reverse the Supreme Court ruling of 1893, and neither can Mr. Angst." Puffing, Miss Navia took in a deep breath, brushed her brunette hair from blocking her vision, and tried to compose her self to her entire class once again, hoping that her antiperspirant really was heat activated and would kick in any moment.
"Now," another breath, "class," letting it out, "your assignment today is to work in groups of three and come up with demonstration on how to torture, er, punish, that is, humanly execute these aggressive agrarians when their time has come, after a speedy trial well within their expiration dates, of course."
"Phil," his lab partner addressed him in an urgent, yet hushed tone, "Miss Navia has lost it. She has tomato pudding for brains. She's a few seeds short of a tomato. She's -"
"I get it, Keely, but what are we going to do? We're trapped in a classroom filled with knives, cleavers, and ice picks."
"Well, I guess we're better of with all those sharp objects in our hands, rather than - I've got one more - the Tomato Psycho Princess."
"Students, this will test your creativity. You may use any of the items in the classroom, as well as from these boxes filled with odds and ends. Please find your two partners and send one person to collect a box for your group. Yes?"
"You said something about testing our creativeness," Mikey Watson interjected.
Miss Navia nodded.
"Is this gonna be on the test then? Or is this a test now? Was this in the class syllabus? I don't think-"
"Mikey, I have a special project for you." The teacher scratched something on a slip, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to him. "Take this to Nurse Alasia and wait for an answer. If she's asleep, don't wake her. She's 108 and deserves a cat nap now and then. Just wait. Now, go. Go."
As a confused Mikey exited, other students started filing up to select a card board box filled with various bits and pieces of materials. In actuality, it really wasn't so very different from any other class project: a little background, a problem presented, materials and time to devise solutions, with presentations to follow. It was just that - terrorist tomatoes? The teach had lost it. But the learned reflex of finishing their assignment kicked in and students went at it swiftly, producing results to various degrees in short order.
"Volunteers?"
Several hands went up in the air. Navia picked one, giving a smiling wink to another signifying that she'd likely be next.
"Our design takes advantage of the vacuum created by the lack of modern day spas for tomatoes. The tomatoes are mailed coupons for a free day of pampering; when in actuality, they're walking into death traps. The tanning salon's infrared lights will be set to fry them, the masseuses will bruise their skin silly, and the jacuzzi, as you can see here, is really a large stewing pot where we'll slowly raise the temperature to boil them alive. Kudos to Mr. Angst for inspiring this design by his story of the frog which incurred a similar fate."
"Trickery and subterfuge are all very fine and good, but hardly challenging when dealing with a tomato's I.Q.; what counts is instilling fear in the tomato population and we're going the traditional route. Yes, we're bringing back public executions to keep those pulpy monsters in their place and, after abandoning the hangman's noose for the obvious reason, we've settled on the guillotine, as you see here. Just insert the offending fruit - I mean vegetable - beneath the blade - watch your fingers - if the tomato doesn't bite them off, then the falling blade just might. Next, pull this lever and SHAZAM! SNIKKT! Sliced tomato. No muss, no fuss, and if you order now, we'll include this strawberry basket to hold the condemned inside so you can usher it under the blade without endangering your digits. No town should be without one!"
"Our concept is intelligent, that is, the gathering of intelligence. Now, how to make a tomato squeal? It's not like it can be bribed, and if we just chop it up, then what have we learned to protect the public? Intimidation, that's the answer. First, the tomato is removed from its vine, severing it from its support group, then it finds itself left for hours in a drawer surrounded by ketchup bottles and canned tomatoes. Believe you me, it will spill its own seeds to save its own skin - uh, you know what I mean."
"Yeah, and if that doesn't do the trick, you could always make it listen as you read Mr. Hackett's memoirs of a ball room prancer - I mean, 'dancer.'"
Snicker, snorts and all out laughter ensued until Miss Navia finally stepped in, "All right, class, that's enough of that. Respect the position, if not the man ... I mean, 'next.'"
There were several involving dangling over whirling blades of food processor, and the demonstration of tomato performance art against a picnic table cloth was fun and messy, but Miss Navia thought it was in poor taste considering this was the grade level involved in the now infamous tomato ranch tomato fight. She also felt that those dealing with demeaning the round vegetable missed the point of the assignment.
"-body knows your father was a rotten tomato and you've turned out by falling off the vine just like him! And your mother, you're the reason she committed suicide at the salsa factory. Yes, you were told that it was an accident, but you're riper now, even a little spoiled, so it's time you knew the truth. Bruised by him, she left your father, taking you with her so you'd be safe next time he tried to cop a feel. It's the old story, vegetables that are thumped, squeezed, and fondled in the produce section grow up to do the same in their own vegetable beds. Your mother didn't have to take you along. She was one hot tomato that anyone would have been happy to pick on her own, but she stuck with you, Runt, and look what you drove her to. Why, I oughtta ..."
In the ventilation duct, lies Pim listening in, hoping that her scheme of revenge upon Miss Navia will fall into place. Hacking Navia's NetFlix movie request was trivial for the only blonde Diffy. Oh, how easily she changed the single teacher's steady diet of romantic movies and Julia Child episodes to an anthology of terror featuring the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes movies. Soon, carnivorous tomatoes were rolling nightly through the troubled slumber of Miss Navia's nightmares, and today she finally snapped! Pim let loose a small "tee-hee" in celebration. This will teach this teacher about questioning the origin of certain tacos when a Diffy is involved. Indeed, this teacher wouldn't be forgetting this any time soon, but why settle for "soon" when "ever" is so close at hand. Wizrd in hand, the one-time Uni-loaf concocter poked her amazing device's antenna through the grating and *ZaPP*! The tomatoes in the fish tank were infused with improbability energy and sprouted eyes, incisors and attitudes! They're alive! Everyone turned when Miss Navia screamed, or maybe it was when the tomatoes growled.
"Look Out! One's escaping!" At the chomping sound, some students jump atop chairs and tables, the teacher hangs from light fixture, and Tanner gets bit several times in the ankle - hope the tomato didn't catch anything from him. Papers fly from desktops, sufficiently providing cover for Phil to Wizrd first the tank of tomatoes, then the lone escapee back to their docile state just before Keely puts it out of its misery with one of her size six stiletto heels. Applause. Bell rings.
"Many of your ideas were effective, though, Myron, your group's notion of providing them with medical check ups, then prescribing time in the refrigerator ... what can I say? 'Inspiring!' Everyone knows tomatoes shouldn't be kept in the cold box. Now, Tara Shraeder's group, the name tag scenario? Just spelling tomato with an "E" reflects on your short comings, not the nano nuisances, but I think we can all agree, that for a practical demonstration of tomato-ie justice, not to mention bravery under fire, Keely Teslow gets first place today for stomping that terror into paste. Good work, Keely - in fact, good work, class. This grade level's long been shadowed by that unfortunate tomato incident at Pickford's Tomato Ranch, but you've shown today that your true colors run red. "A"s for everybody, except you, Tara, and your friends. You can take Tanner to Nurse Alasia. He's going to need a shot and probably a marinade.
"Should I check on Mikey Watson, too, for extra credit, of course?"
"Who? Oh, yeah, right. You do that. Class dismissed. Somebody tell the janitor to come in here and bring his mop. Boy, is he ever going to be surprised when he sees this."
Rolling about in the ventilation duct as best as she could, Pim put her Wizrd away once more, giggling with no end in sight. Oh, she was satisfied with her revenge for her taco grade; for her sequel, though, would be "the revenge of the Uni-Loaf." Now, that'll be a recipe that'll blow the teacher's socks off!