All the Fridges! … PART TWO

 

< Have you read PART ONE yet? If not, go and do so, or else none of this will make sense… >

 

The light from the photocopier and the light from the fridge conjoined. So the room was, you know, filled with light. There was nothing else. Just light (which was a bit disconcerting). No staplers. No Sellotape. No printer toner. No hole punches. No antibacterial screen wipes. No small boxes of pencils. No four-colour biros. No Blu-Tac. No glue sticks. No drawing pins. No pencil sharpeners. No erasers. No mouse mats (which no one uses these days anyway). No bulldog clips. No scissors (left or right-handed, “safety” or otherwise). No packs of paper. No elastic bands.

 

Well you get the picture.

 

Mr Crabbe’s head hurt.

 

“What in Ragnarök is going on?!,” he said.

 

“I thought you said you didn't ‘believe any of it’?,” said Jenelle (referring, presumably, to Mr Crabbe's reference to the Norse ‘Armageddon’).

 

“Figure of speech,” said Mr Crabbe.

 

“Fair does” said Jenelle. “Now be quiet and wait.”

 

“Don't tell me to-...”

 

But Mr Crabbe didn’t finish his sentence, because another thing happened. Which was thus...

 

The light intensified a bit more - which reminded him of the time he had walked in on a Science lesson, just as Norman Hintleburn (the ‘special pencil’ thief) had decided to set alight the entire flask of magnesium, rather than just a single strip.

 

“Oh Zeus,” said Mr Crabbe.

 

Upon which everything expanded.

 

Well not everything.

 

Just the room really.

 

And the fridge.

 

Mainly the fridge.

 

“Now open your DAE,” he heard Jenelle say, which didn’t make any sense, as it sounded like, Now open your ‘die’.

 

He didn’t pay much attention to this, however, as he was more concerned with the fact that the small open fridge he was standing in front of had just expanded... to the size of a room. Or at least the inside of it had (somehow). And by room, I mean Quite a Large Room.

 

“Sorry... um... what did you say?,” enquired Mr Crabbe, somewhat vaguely, of Jenelle.

 

“Open your DAE,” repeated Jenelle.

 

“I don't know what you-...”

 

“Your Domestic Appliance Eye! Oh just go in the fridge.”

 

For want of anything better to do, Mr Crabbe walked into the room-sized fridge (because you would, wouldn't you?).

 

...

 

When I say it was Quite a Large Room, I mean that in the sense that someone who says a curry is Quite a Spicy Curry has the lining of their mouth taken off. A warehouse would be more accurate. Which was empty. Except for all the fridges.

 

“Welcome,” said Jenelle, who had followed Mr Crabbe into the fridge-room, as she indicated all around and about with her nobbly stick.

 

“Uh... thank you...?,” said Mr Crabbe.

 

“Proceed,” said the Keeper of the Fridge, with more nobbly stick waving.

 

“With what?,” said the Teacher of RE.

 

“Choose your fridge.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Fulfil your destiny.”

 

“I'm not following you.”

 

“Isn’t that why you are here? Isn’t that your purpose?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Then what is?”

 

“I just want my special pencil back.”

 

“Exactly!”

 

“Um... ‘exactly’?”

 

“Choose your fridge... and you ‘special pencil’ shall be returned unto you.”

 

“Really?”

 

She shoved him in the back with her nobbly stick.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Fridge! Choose! Now!”

 

Mr Crabbe dithered.

 

“Go!”

 

Mr Crabbe shrugged.

 

Oh well, thought he. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

...

 

After a few moments hesitation, he was overcome by the urge to throw caution to the wind. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had a purpose. To retrieve his special pencil.

 

And what a truly special pencil it was. It was one of those ‘mechanical’ ones - although Mr Crabbe liked to call it his ‘poppy’ pencil - on account of the fact that you pressed the end and the lead (or whatever they make pencils out of these days) ‘popped’ out. It was cheap, purple and plastic - but that wasn’t the point. It had been gifted to him by his mum, when he had got the job as RE teacher at Brimlington High School for Clever (and not so Clever) Boys and Girls. And his mum had been given it to her by her mum, when she had given birth to Mr Crabbe (who was then known as ‘Callum’). No one knew where Mrs Crabbe had got the pencil from. Probably WHSmith.

 

Mr Crabbe walked further into the room. He looked all around and about him as he did so. He was reminded of the warehouse where they stored the Ark of the Covenant at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark - except instead of crates containing ancient artefacts and such, it was white goods.

 

Then he got to thinking...

 

What exactly was in all the crates in the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark? Was it ancient artefacts? Stashes of exotic weaponry? Fridges?

 

Speaking of which...

 

He was drawn.

 

Standing there in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by hundreds (thousands?) of identical-looking white fridges, he started to feel...

 

Inextricably pulled.

 

As if the patches on the elbows of his corduroy jacket contained magnets.

 

And the fridge to which he was drawn also contained a magnet. But a big one. A really powerful one.

 

Both of his elbows were lifted and pulled forward. Which, if you think about it, looked a bit weird. But Mr Crabbe cared not about weirdness. He cared not about the fact that he seemed to be under the influence of something greater than himself. Something greater than when he got the urge to text some swear words to his ex after he had drunk half a bottle of gin. Something greater than a visit from OFSTED. It was something greater than he could possibly imagine (which wasn’t actually that ‘great,’ as he didn’t have the greatest imagination, but you get the idea).

 

Mr Crabbe, the Teacher of RE, started moving forward. With his elbows thrust out ahead of him. His mouth open (and a bit of dribble leaking out of one side). His eyes wide. Followed, a couple of meters behind, by Jenelle (who was smiling oddly). He moved towards a stack of fridges. Six of them. A tower of fridges, if you will. He then stopped and raised his head. He was looking at the fridge right at the top.

 

“Typical,” said Jenelle.

 

“Huh?,” said Mr Crabbe, without moving his mouth or eyes or anything.

 

“It’s always the one right at the top,” said Jenelle.

 

“Orree,” said Mr Crabbe (because it’s hard to say, “Sorry,” when you don’t move your mouth).

 

“No matter,” said Jenelle, as she raised her nobbly stick and pointed it to the top fridge.

 

The top fridge started to glow.

 

As if someone had opened the door.

 

Only no one had opened the door and the glow was emanating from all parts of the fridge.

 

The glow got brighter... brighter... until it filled the entire room. The fridge started to levitate. It seemed to expand - although it hadn’t really; it was just that the glow made it seem bigger. It moved... floated... away from the fridges beneath... in the direction of Mr Crabbe and Jenelle... then slowly descended... until with a very gently thwump, it came to rest on the floor before Mr Crabbe and Jenelle.

 

“Ool,” said Mr Crabbe (meaning, “Cool”).

 

“I know, right?,” said Jenelle. “Now open it. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

 

“Oh sorry,” said Mr Crabbe.

 

Jenelle indicated with her stick and her eyebrows (which Mr Crabbe now noticed were rather bushy) towards the door of the fridge.

 

“What will I find?,” enquired Mr Crabbe.

 

“You will find that which you seek,” said Jenelle.

 

“A pay rise?”

 

“Don’t be facetious.”

 

Mr Crabbe put his hand of the door.

 

“Come on, you’re not the only one with a fridge to choose, you know.”

 

Mr Crabbe was mildly curious as to who else would a fridge chooser, but he quickly put such thoughts aside and opened the door to his chosen fridge.

 

It was all he had hoped for, and more. Actually no it wasn't. It was a fridge. An empty fridge. With a purple 'poppy' pencil on one of the shelves.

 

“There y’are,” said Jenelle.

 

Mr Crabbe picked up the pencil. He turned it over in his hands. His face glowed like the fridge had a minute ago (although more in a metaphorical way).

 

“Is that the one?,” said Jenelle.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Is that the pencil you were looking for?”

 

“Yes, it’s...”

 

“Come on, then...”

 

“What? I...”

 

She nudged him on the back with her nobbly stick. “People to see, fridges to choose...”

 

“Ow!” - more nudging, forcing him to start walking.

 

“Chop chop.”

 

“But I...”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“I have questions.”

 

“Questions, questions. Why do they always have questions...?”

 

More nudging. And prodding. And poking.

 

0Can you stop doing that, please?”

 

“Is that your question?”

 

“No, I just...”

 

“Then let’s go...”

 

Nudge nudge. Prod prod. Poke poke.

 

“Will! You! Stop! Poking me!...?”

 

“That’s your second question.”

 

“No!”

 

They were now by the inside of the door to the Resource Cupboard. Jenelle turned to face Mr Crabbe. She raised her bushy eyebrows.

 

“Why,” said Mr Crabbe, “are you Keeper of the Fridge, not Keeper of the Fridges?”

 

“Is that it?,” said Jenelle.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Of all the things you could ask - like, how does the magic work? - you ask a question related to grammar.”

 

“I’m a teacher.”

 

“Of RE!”

 

Mr Crabbe shrugged.

 

“Okay, you want to know the answer?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“It sounds better.”

 

“Y’what ?”

 

“‘Fridge’ sounds better than ‘fridges’.”

 

“Can I go now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

He left his “special pencil” at the corner of his desk.

 

He forgot it was there.

 

At the end of the lesson, Norman Hintleburn took the pencil and ran off.

 

Here we go again, thought Mr Crabbe, as he gave chase.

 

< fin >

 

...

 

Inspired by a recent conversation with colleagues about the location of the Resource Cupboard.