A friend of mine related these incidents. Then she swore me to silence with regard to names, dates, and places. When I said, “Well, if you’d rather, I can always write about something else,” she responded, “But it’s such a neat story.”

She’s right. It is.

So, clothed in pseudonyms and wreathed behind an absolute shrubbery of obfuscation, this is the marvelous tale of a storm, a big truck, a lot of repair equipment, and …

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Once upon a time in a far off land, there occurred fierce and wicked weather. I won’t say where. I won’t say when. All you have to know is that it was violent. It destroyed homes. It shattered lives.

As in the aftermath of many storms, it also knocked out electricity.

Now I imagine that when you think of utility trucks, you envision anonymous workers wearing complicated leather belts filled with esoteric equipment who climb poles for the purpose of restoring power.

That’s what I used to think. Now, I don’t.

Instead. I see utility trucks as gigantic medieval horses. I see utility workers as Knights in Shining Armor. And I see storms as dragons to be slain.

Here’s how my friend Katie (phony name) slew hers.