Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice, Chapter 17 (Turkey Trials)

The radio station’s parking lot was swarming with people, all desperate to get their hands on one of the elusive Thanksgiving turkeys. Garth and Roberto pushed through the crowd, sizing up their competition as they approached the event sign-up table. The air buzzed with excitement, tension, and the faint aroma of pumpkin spice from a nearby vendor stand.

“Alright, Garth,” Roberto said, cracking his knuckles. “This is our shot. Five turkeys, three rounds. I’m not leaving here without one of those birds.”

Garth chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s just a bird, Roberto. Think we’re a little crazy for doing all this?”

Roberto scoffed, adjusting his stance. “That’s the difference between you and me, Garth. To you, it’s just a bird. To me, it’s Thanksgiving.”

With that, Roberto strode confidently toward the event registration, while Garth followed, muttering, “We’re frying it,” just loud enough for Roberto to hear.

The announcer called for contestants to line up for the first round: the Dinner Carry Event. A row of Dutch ovens filled with vegetables sat waiting, each paired with five grocery bags weighing ten pounds apiece, one for each arm. The goal was simple: contestants had to carry everything across the finish line in the shortest time possible. The fastest would proceed to the next round.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Get ready for Round One!”

Garth and Roberto exchanged a glance, both men sizing up their loads before crouching down, gripping the handles of their Dutch ovens. The whistle blew, and they were off.

Garth stumbled a bit under the weight, struggling to keep his balance with the grocery bags swinging wildly at his sides. He focused on steadying his pace, planting one foot in front of the other and inching his way down the track, his arms trembling from the strain. But somehow, with grit and determination, he managed to make it to the finish line within the qualifying time. Breathing heavily, he leaned against a post, watching as Roberto barreled through the course behind him.

Roberto, meanwhile, had no trouble at all. He scooped up his Dutch oven and bags with a flourish, striding down the track like it was a walk in the park. In record time, he crossed the line, barely breaking a sweat.

“Show-off,” Garth muttered as Roberto flashed a smug grin in his direction.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, congratulating those who made it through to the next round: a mashed potato eating contest. The tables were quickly set with large bowls of mashed potatoes, each heaping mound looking like it had been prepared with extra butter and cream.

“Alright, folks,” the announcer declared. “Whoever finishes their bowl the fastest moves on to the final round!”

Garth eyed the mound of potatoes in front of him, his competitive spirit igniting. As the whistle blew, he dug in, shoveling spoonfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth with surprising speed. Years in the service had trained him to eat fast, and he finished his bowl in no time, wiping his mouth with a victorious grin.

Roberto, however, struggled. His usual appetite seemed to fail him as he tried to force down bite after bite, his face scrunching up as he pushed himself to finish. But despite his struggle, he powered through, managing to clear his bowl and secure a spot in the final round.

The final event, Thanksgiving Trivia, brought the ten remaining contestants to the stage. The announcer explained the rules: answer correctly, and stay in the game. Get it wrong, and you’re eliminated. The last five standing would receive one of the coveted turkeys, with the grand prize going to the contestant who answered the most questions correctly.

Garth was up first.

“Alright, Garth, here’s your question,” the announcer said, leaning into the microphone. “What year did A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving debut on TV?”

Garth thought for a moment, then confidently answered, “1973.”

“That’s correct!” the announcer called out as the crowd cheered, and Garth let out a small sigh of relief, glad to have cleared the first hurdle.

The competition continued, and after a few rounds, one contestant had already been eliminated. Next, it was Roberto’s turn.

“Alright, Roberto,” the announcer said. “What process refers to soaking a turkey in a saltwater solution before cooking it?”

Without missing a beat, Roberto answered, “Brining.”

“That’s correct!”

The crowd applauded, and Roberto shot Garth a smug look, earning an eye-roll in return. They were in it now, and both men knew they wouldn’t back down without a fight.

The next rounds went by, with more contestants dropping out, leaving only seven competitors remaining. Garth was up again, and his question came through the speakers: “What four ingredients go into making a basic pie crust?”

Garth smiled, feeling confident. “Flour, salt, water, and butter,” he replied, earning another cheer from the crowd.

More contestants faltered, answering incorrectly and narrowing the field to five remaining competitors. It was Roberto’s turn once again.

“Which U.S. president was the first to officially pardon a turkey?”

“George Bush Sr.,” Roberto answered with confidence.

“That’s correct!”

The crowd cheered, and Garth gave him a nod of acknowledgment, impressed despite himself. The competition pressed on, and after several more questions, only three competitors were left: Garth, Roberto, and a middle-aged man named Arnold, whose intensity suggested he was just as determined as they were.

Garth’s question came next. “In 1995, this popular Thanksgiving vegetable was the first to be grown in space.”

Garth frowned, racking his brain, then took a guess. “Potatoes?”

“That’s correct!”

Relieved, Garth glanced over at Roberto, who was focused on the next question with a fierce intensity. The announcer turned to Roberto.

“What notable Native American served as an interpreter between the Pilgrims and Native Americans?”

“Squanto,” Roberto replied without hesitation.

“That’s correct!”

The announcer turned to Arnold, who looked equally determined. “What family does the pumpkin belong to?”

Arnold straightened up and answered, “Cucurbitaceae.”

The crowd went silent, a murmur rippling through as people turned to one another in surprise. Garth and Roberto exchanged a look, both clearly impressed. Somewhere in the crowd, someone muttered, “Holy shit.”

The next question fell to Garth: “According to the U.S. Census Bureau, how many places in the U.S. are named Cranberry?”

He hesitated, then guessed, “Zero?”

The announcer shook his head. “I’m sorry, the correct answer is five.”

Garth sighed, stepping back from the stage, but he leaned over to Roberto on his way down and whispered, “You can drop out now; we’re already getting a turkey.”

But Roberto stood his ground, his posture unwavering as he prepared for his next question.

The announcer’s voice rang out. “According to Guinness World Records, the world’s LARGEST pumpkin pie weighed 3,699 pounds. When was this accomplished?”

“2010,” Roberto answered confidently, earning a cheer from the crowd as he moved one step closer to victory.

The questions grew harder, with Arnold and Roberto each matching one another’s answers, each determined not to back down. They went several more rounds, neither willing to miss their chance at the grand prize.

Finally, the announcer turned to Arnold. “Referred to as the ‘pumpkin capital’ of the U.S., what town is home to the Libby’s pumpkin canning plant?”

Arnold hesitated, then answered, “Morton, Indiana.”

The announcer shook his head. “That is incorrect.”

Roberto let out a chuckle, smirking. The announcer turned to him. “Roberto, if you answer correctly, you win.”

Roberto straightened, practically glowing with confidence. “Morton, Illinois.”

“Correct! Roberto is our grand prize winner!”

The crowd erupted into applause as Roberto took a bow, accepting the large turkey that was ceremoniously handed over by the announcer. Garth cheered alongside him, giving him a hearty slap on the back.

“Well, we did it,” Garth said, chuckling. “One for the books, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Roberto replied, holding the turkey up in triumph.

As the crowd began to disperse, the station staff brought out the remaining four turkeys for the other winners. But as they did, a sudden commotion broke out near the front of the crowd. Some overly enthusiastic contestants rushed forward, grabbing at the turkeys, which sparked a small but chaotic scuffle. One of the birds slipped out of its wrapping, tumbling to the ground where it was quickly snatched by an opportunistic attendee who bolted through the parking lot with it.

Garth and Roberto watched in shock as the last few turkeys either disappeared into the crowd or ended up damaged beyond salvage. Garth sighed, his hope for an additional turkey dashed, but he clapped Roberto on the shoulder.

“At least you got the big one. We’ll make it work, and hey—maybe I’ll get to fry a turkey next year.”

Roberto gave him a rare, almost apologetic look. “Sorry, Garth. Really… I know how much you wanted this to work out.”

Garth offered him a small smile. “Forget about it. Let’s just get this bird home.”

But before they could relax, a few lingering members of the crowd began to take notice of the prized turkey in Roberto’s hands. Their eyes narrowed with envy, and some of them started moving toward the car, clearly hoping to snag it.

“Uh… Garth?” Roberto muttered, glancing around as the crowd began closing in. “We should probably go.”

Garth didn’t need to be told twice. They jumped into the car, Roberto clutching the turkey protectively as Garth started the engine. A few people tried to approach the car, but Garth quickly backed out of the parking space, navigating through the crowd and speeding off down the road.

As they finally left the chaos behind, Garth let out a sigh of relief, glancing over at Roberto, who was still holding onto the turkey like it was a prize trophy.

“Well, Roberto,” Garth said, chuckling. “You certainly earned that bird. Think you’re still up for smoking it?”

Roberto grinned, his expression triumphant. “Oh, you better believe it. This turkey’s going to be legendary.”