KoF Story Sequel

KoF Story Sequel

By Roger Heid

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The episode involving a certain teacher of mine and a certain Kof Diesel Yard Shifter is not over with. There is more to come, wouldn’t you know.

In order to set the stage for this one, you need to know that in one corner of the plaza between the school and the train station there was a bakery with a small café. It was renowned for its yummy pastries. There were more of these delicacies carried out rather than consumed on location.

It all started out on some gloomy day, later that fall. This illustrious teacher of ours, during a temporary lapse of reason, parked his car again in a fashion blocking the train’s path. This was nothing new, as you know.

The difference this time was, well, the old curmudgeon Kof driver really got highly ticked, to say the least. We were in class, thusly unable to indulge in his tirade of uncouth language. The end result was: He had the cops tow the car to the local impound lot. This activity we were able to observe. Ergo, we knew where the car was.

In defense of the old curmudgeon it needs to be mentioned that the teacher had traded his old wreck for a newer wreck. His old car looked like a yellow shoe box; his new one looked like a horse apple on steroids. It was some kind of a smallish Fiat trying to look like a VW Beetle, but it was squeezed from both ends, and it was of a brownish-tanish color. Ugly as a sin!!

You also need to know that in Germany the car license plates stay with the car, not the registrant. Therefore, the horse apple also sported different license plates. This explains the curmudgeon’s rash reaction. He had no way knowing that this car belonged to his old buddy.

School was over. Our teacher ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. For the dickens, he could not find his horse apple car, nor could he possibly remember where he might have parked it before walking away from it. This was pathetic. He was totally helpless.

We told him what happened. His verbal response is not recommended for print, might I add. A kind teacher gave him a ride to the municipal impound lot, located a stretch out of town.

It was known that both had been stationed in Norway, during the war. One student suggested that repeated exposure to lutefisk fumes may have adversely affected the integrity of their individual demeanor. I personally doubted that, but one ought not to dismiss the possibility.

Furthermore, it was widely known that the curmudgeon was addicted to the Café’s pastries. More often than not, he would stop the train in front of the Café, go inside to get his desired amount of goodies. Due to the overall expanse of the plaza, his action did not cause a traffic impediment. Lots of folks temporarily parked that way.

During the two days after his trip to the impound lot, our teacher’s attitude appeared to be elusive and pensive. It seemed he was plotting something approximating the magnitude of Napoleon’s quest to conquer Russia. We could only hope for more satisfying results.

Finally, he announced he would take tomorrow off and that Mr. Soandso would fill in for him. Soandso was a substitute teacher with the intelligence comparable to a head of cauliflower. Three of us decided to commit an act of truancy, knowing we would, most likely, get away with it. If not, it was worth the price for witnessing the teacher’s efforts of conquest. Employing a healthy amount of empathy, we kinda knew what his plot consisted of. We just simply had to see this.

To make the long story short, at one time during the following morning, the noisy Kof, curmudgeon at the helm, approached the Plaza, coming from the rail yard by itself. As expected, it stopped in front of the café, engine idling. Curmudgeon hopped off and scurried into the café to obtain a load of his beloved éclairs.

Out of nowhere, our teacher appeared, got into the Kof, put her in reverse, and moved her back to the rail yard, probably hiding her on a siding behind one of the storage buildings. We had noticed that his horse apple was not parked in its usual spot. We figured it was already standing by somewhere near the rail yard.

Curmudgeon rushed out of the café. It is impossible to describe the look in his face. Now, if there were a Pulitzer Prize for ‘Profanity’, curmudgeon would have won it, twice over. He went back into the café, sat down to gobble up his éclairs, flushing them down with a half gallon of coffee. Once finished, he came out and headed for the rail yard.

About 30 minutes later, the Kof returned. It briefly stopped in front of the café again, for an obvious reason; then it headed back home to the plant. This time around, curmudgeon resorted to silence, but the look his face betrayed evil intentions.

You need to know that these two old buddies never held a grudge for very long, maybe only for a few hours. During the evenings, they would usually meet at their favorite beer joint, reminiscing old war stories over a few mugs of the local brew.

Our teacher was supposed to be back on the following day, but he wasn’t. Later that day, we learned through underground information channels that the curmudgeon had laced the teacher’s beer with an undue amount of castor oil. This knocked him out for a couple of days, leaving us with the dubious pleasure being taught nonsense by Mr. Soandso.

Soon after, the school administration allotted our teacher a parking stall behind the school building, out of harm’s way. This put an end to further Kof escapades. Too bad.

About a month later, our teacher traded his horse apple for something much better looking. You might fathom why he did that.

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