Sara Went Shopping
Sara Smith, a Pasadena resident, went shopping. She is 30, and has lived at 3037 N. Foothill Street since 1992. Sara has been married to John for seven years. They have two children; Bob is five years old and Nancy is three. Sara owns a 1995 four-door blue Toyola. At 9 a.m., Sara got into her car and drove to Barget, a department store a mile away.
Barget was having a holiday sale. Sara bought a four-slice toaster for $29.95 plus tax. The regular price was $39.95. She paid by check. On her way home, Sara stopped at MilkPlus to buy a gallon of nonfat milk. The milk was $3.50. Sara got 50 cents back in change.
Sara arrived home at 10 a.m. John and the kids were still sleeping. She woke them up and then made a hot and nutritious breakfast for everyone.
A Life-Saving Cow
Six consecutive days of spring rain had created a raging river running by Nancy Brown’s farm. As she tried to herd her cows to higher ground, she slipped and hit her head on a fallen tree trunk. The fall knocked her out for a moment or two. When she came to, Lizzie, one of her oldest and favorite cows, was licking her face. The water was rising. Nancy got up and began walking slowly with Lizzie. The water was now waist high. Nancy’s pace got slower and slower. Finally, all she could do was to throw her arm around Lizzie’s neck and try to hang on. About 20 minutes later, Lizzie managed to successfully pull herself and Nancy out of the raging water and onto a bit of high land, a small island now in the middle of acres of white water.
Even though it was about noon, the sky was so dark and the rain and lightning so bad that it took rescuers another two hours to discover Nancy. A helicopter lowered a paramedic, who attached Nancy to a life-support hoist. They raised her into the helicopter and took her to the school gym, where the Red Cross had set up an emergency shelter.
When the flood subsided two days later, Nancy immediately went back to the “island.” Lizzie was gone. She was one of 19 cows that Nancy lost. “I owe my life to her,” said Nancy sobbingly.
It was 80 degrees in the shade. A man wearing a heavy army jacket, a pullover wool cap, and dark sunglasses walked into the First American Bank at the corner of Maple and Main streets in downtown Short Beach.
The man walked up to the teller and held up a hand grenade for all to see. He said, “Give me all your money, all the money in this bank, right now!”
Everyone in the lobby screamed and started running, even the security guard. Nervously, the young female teller handed the man three big bags loaded with cash. He walked out the door. A second later, one of the money bags exploded, covering him with red dye. He yelled in pain and surprise, and started pacing around in circles because he couldn't see where he was going.
He couldn’t see, but he could hear. He heard the police siren get closer. Then he heard the police tell him to get down on his stomach on the sidewalk and put his hands behind his back. They handcuffed him and placed him in the back of the police car.
Seeing the hand grenade on the sidewalk, the police told everyone to get back. They sealed off the whole block and called the bomb squad. The bomb squad came and examined the hand grenade. Then they laughed. They told the police it was a fake. The hand grenade was actually a harmless dummy, something a 12-year-old might play with.
The police chuckled. The bank employees returned to work. The bank customers returned to their lines. The bank robber, hopefully, would never return.