The Murder of Crabwell Grommet As seen at Dr. McDougall’s Health & Medical Center (with minor edits)
On the morning of his 42nd birthday, Crabwell Grommet awoke to a peal of particularly ominous thunder. Glancing out the window with bleary eyes, he saw written in fiery letters across the sky: “Someone is trying to kill you, Crabwell Grommet!”
With shaking hands, Grommet lit his first cigarette of the day. He didn’t question the message; you don’t question a message like that. His only question was, “Who?” At breakfast as he salted his eggs, he told his wife, Gratia, “Someone is trying to kill me.”
“Who?” she asked with horror. Grommet slowly stirred the cream and sugar into his coffee and shook his head. “I don’t know!” he replied. Convinced though he was, Grommet wasn’t going to the police with his story. He decided that his only course of action was to go about his daily routine and hope somehow to outwit his would-be murderer.
He tried to think on the way to the office, but the frustration of making time by beating red lights and switching lanes occupied him wholly. Nor could he find a moment once behind his desk, what with handling phone calls, urgent emails and the many problems and decisions piling up as they did every day.
It wasn’t until his second martini at lunch that the full terror of his dilemma struck him. It was all he could do to finish off his Lasagna Milanese. “I can’t panic,” he said to himself, lighting his cigar. “I must simply live my life as usual.” So he worked until seven as usual, studied business reports as usual, and took his usual two capsules of Seconal in order to get his usual six hours of sleep.
As the days passed, Crabwell stuck fully to his routine. As the months passed by, he began to take a perverse pleasure in his ability to survive. “Whoever is trying to get me,” he’d say proudly to his wife, “hasn’t got me yet. I’m too smart for him.” “Oh, please be careful,” she’d reply, ladling him a second helping of her tasty beef stroganoff.
His pride grew and he managed to go on living for years. But, as it must to all men, death came at last to Crabwell Grommet. It came at his desk on a particularly busy day. He was 53. His wife demanded a full autopsy, but it showed only emphysema, arteriosclerosis, duodenal ulcers, cirrhosis of the liver, cardiac necrosis, a cerebrovascular aneurysm, pulmonary edema, obesity, circulatory insufficiency and a touch of lung cancer.
“How glad Crabwell would have been to know,” said the widow smiling proudly through her tears, “that he died of natural causes.”
Hello, friends. I have been avoiding my blog and I thought today was a good day to begin anew. I hope the message in this story impacts you as deeply as it did me.
Don’t be a Crabwell Grommet! Life is too precious to keep doing the “usual”. Join me today in starting over. We are worth it!