When talk started going around town about throwing another wholesale abalone fair, everybody got into an uproar. Who was going to organize the road closures? Who was going to procure the health department permits? Where the hell were they going to get the money to pay park maintenance overtime to clean up after the darned thing? Everybody knows you can't have a wholesale abalone fair without making a mess, and it's no mystery that clearing the health department permits for seafood sales is a major migraine headache. It had to come down to one man.
Big Jim Tafford had overseen forty-four wholesale abalone fairs in his day. He had long time connections with the health department bigwigs, and still had a monthly five beer lunch with the head of Harbor Region park's maintenance, so everyone breathed a sigh of relief when he strolled into the town meeting with a wholesale abalone rules t-shirt on, still smoking a cigarette and barely pausing in front of the assembled town council to grumble "I'll do it" before doing an abrupt about face and heading right back out the front door, grumbling something about inept this and mountain out of a molehill that. The wholesale abalone fair would go smoothly for at least one more year, but Big Jim wouldn't promise any more than that.
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