The Dutch Man’s Spam Ham                                         by Jacquelyn Stam       

It was a quaint autumn’s night on the premises of the Spam Ham factory. The workers had gone home from a longs days work, and Clam the security man had just begun his night shift.

            Spam Ham Incorporated, at this time, had grown well known throughout the world. For who could miss a four story building at the corner of Main St. and Old Orchard Rd. in the extraordinarily huge town of Belleville On. This large building stored masses of dead pigs that were packaged into tin cans every day of the workweek. The property that was most distinguished as Spam Ham was the label on its in cans. This label read, “No One Packs Me Better!” with a pink pig holding a fork and knife, ready for a pig scoop… I mean a big scoop of Spam Ham. Now who could resist such a beautiful thing! Tis exactly why an excellent security officer was needed.

Clam was a good honest officer. His bodily features shot fear into intruders (for he was very much obese), but under his round belly and bulging shoulders was a heart that beat more trustworthy than any soul on the face of the planet. Therefore such a man was quite worthy of keeping the large corporation safe and sound.

          Meanwhile, outside this magnificent establishment, a devious scheme was being put to work. A man’s figure dressed in black stood near one of the windows on the side of the concrete wall with a glasscutter in one hand and a donut in the other. (Hey! Policemen aren’t the only ones who go to Timmies!) The being was covered from head to toe in black velvet except for his eyes, which were shielded with the newest technology in making infrared beams viewable to the human eye. These special glasses were called the “Super Secret Spy Goggles 3000.”

          As the blade of the glasscutter slit through the windowpane, everything was silent. All that could be heard was the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. Once the pane was completely separate from the frame, the dark man slipped through window and into the interior of Spam Ham Factory.

          Once inside, he moved silently through the empty halls, rooms, and corridors to the processing room. This was Spam’s main packaging area. Here, tin cans were set, labeled, then filled with ham.

          The black man moved over toward the labeling station, ducking infrared beams. After he had reached the machine, he tore the label role from where it was strung through, flipped it around, and replaced it back in. Now, the labels would be on inside out, therefore becoming less attractive to the buyer. So the process had been complete and the man turned back to exit the building form where he had come, But when he turned back on his heel, he noticed a fishy difference; the red beams that originally stretched across the open space, were no longer there. The man’s first instinct was curiosity but then he realized that there was only one reason for he absence of the red streaks, his super secret spy goggles had failed him. He started walking back slowly, knowing that any minute he could hit an invisible beam.

          Clam, the five star officer, was strolling along the hallway heading toward the main offices when the entire building shook with the sounds of alarms everywhere. Immediately, he pulled out his walky-talky and radioed the police station. Then he phoned Charlie Stam, the owner of the entire business, at his white house in Carrying Place. After the phoning was done, he accessed the security main system from his multi-purpose watch and checked out where the infrared beams had been hit. It seemed that the culprit was running from the main processing room to the side of the building. Clam knew exactly what path the burglar would take. He hopped into the elevator that led down to that exact hallway. As he stepped out of the elevator, he was struck with a blow of somebody running down the hall. Since Mr. Clam, the tough Security Man, was very large he stood still with out the slightest trace of ever being touched.

          A black lump in the shape of a man was huddled on the floor at the feet of the towering giant, not only struck physically, but mentally. For the little man was scarred with fear of the large figure that cast a huge shadow over him.

          Sirens and the screech of tires stopping outside the building were heard. Lights flashed and the approaching deep voices got louder until a group of six policemen surrounded the now doomed man lying on the floor.

          “What is going on?” Charlie Stam said in an unconcerned tone. The head investigator walked over to where he was sitting in his new red Mazda Miata.

          “Oh! Good evening Mr. Stam! There was just a little break in incident tonight, nothing out of the ordinary. Herman VanStrudle was taken to the police station and is being questioned at the very moment. My men are investigating the premises, looking for clues about the break in. But no worries Mr. Stam! Everything is under control. The building will be ready for work tomorrow morning.”

           “Yes, that is what I figured. I guess I will do the usual and check in at the police station to so what this man was up to? Ok, thank you officer, and goodnight!”

           “Yes goodnight Mr. Stam”

           ~And so it ends another unsuccessful attempt to mess up the Dutch man’s Spam Ham. All shall become peaceful again in the wonderfully hick (but extraordinarily hip) town of Belleville.~