The Rhinestone Flagger's Unbearable Nap

The Rhinestone Flagger's Unbearable Nap

Barry "The Rhinestone Flagger" Bling was a man who took his job – directing traffic with unparalleled sparkle and pizzazz – very seriously. Today, however, the afternoon sun and the hypnotic hum of passing cars had conspired against him. Slumped in his beat-up Ford Focus, which was less "Focus" and more "FUBAR" at this point, Barry drifted off, a stray rhinestone catching the light on his cheek.

His dreams, much like his work uniform, were vivid. He was stuck, utterly trapped, in his very own Focus. The culprit? A colossal, grumpy brown bear, its eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. It swiped at his windows with claws the size of dinner plates, roaring a sound that rattled Barry's fillings. He honked the horn, flashed his high beams, even tried to distract it with a tiny, bedazzled traffic cone he kept for emergencies. Nothing worked. The bear simply hunkered down on the hood, its immense weight making the car groan, occasionally letting out a low growl that vibrated through the steering wheel. Barry, sweating profusely in his sleep, just knew this was it. He was going to be the first Rhinestone Flagger to be slowly squashed by a grumpy grizzly.

Hours later, Barry woke with a jolt, his neck aching and a distinct, unpleasant aroma assaulting his nostrils. He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked out the window. His jaw dropped, quite literally.

Perched majestically on the hood of his beloved (if dented) Ford Focus, was not the dream bear, but a very real, very large, very brown bear. And it wasn't just sitting there. Oh no. This bear, with a look of serene contentment on its face, was in the process of leaving a truly epic, undoubtedly record-breaking, deposit directly onto Barry's windshield.

Barry stared. The bear grunted, shifted, and then, with a final, satisfying rumble, hopped off the car, gave a single, dismissive shake, and lumbered off into the nearby woods, leaving behind a steaming, pungent monument to its digestive prowess.

Barry, still half-asleep and entirely bewildered, slowly reached for his phone. "Hey, uh, dispatch?" he mumbled into the receiver, "You're not gonna believe this, but I think I'm going to need a hazmat team... and maybe a new car wash subscription. And possibly therapy." He looked at the offending brown smear, then at the sparkling rhinestones on his uniform. "Some days," he sighed, "even the bling can't shine through this."