Date: October 20, 1989.
Location: The Cooper Household.
Event: The Arrival of the Gellers (Day Zero).
Mary Cooper was a sweet woman. She loved Jesus, her children, and baking.
But put a deadline on her, and she turned into a drill sergeant with a Bible in one hand and a bottle of bleach in the other.
"Georgie!" she screamed from the kitchen. "Why are there cleats in the hallway? Do you want Judy to think we live in a barn?"
"It's Texas, Mom," I yelled back, hopping on one leg to pull off my shoe. "We basically do live in a barn."
"Not today we don't!" she shrieked. "Get them out! And wash your face! You look like you've been rolling in dirt!"
"I was at practice!"
"I don't care! Scrub!"
I sighed. It had been three weeks of this. "Operation Sterile House."
Mary had deep-cleaned things that didn't know they could be cleaned. The ceiling fan blades. The inside of the toaster. The underside of the couch cushions.
Sheldon was sitting at the dining room table (which had been polished so much it was slippery), reviewing a manila folder.
"Status report," I asked, grabbing an apple (after checking to make sure it wasn't a 'decorative' apple).
"The enemy is approaching," Sheldon said, not looking up. "According to the flight itinerary Mom pinned to the fridge, the Gellers landed at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport ninety minutes ago. Allowing for baggage claim and the rental car transaction, they should be arriving in approximately fourteen minutes."
He tapped his folder.
"I have prepared my counter-arguments for Ross's paper on the extinction event. He relies too heavily on the volcanic theory. It is amateurish."
"Be nice, Sheldon," I warned. "Mom is on the edge. If you make Ross cry in the first hour, she might actually explode."
"I cannot be held responsible for his emotional fragility," Sheldon stated.
***
The Arrival
Fourteen minutes later, a white rental sedan pulled into the driveway.
Mary was vibrating. She smoothed her dress for the hundredth time. George Sr. was standing next to her, looking like he was facing a firing squad.
"Smile, George," Mary hissed. "And tuck in your shirt."
"It is tucked," George grumbled. "Jack Geller is a lawyer, Mary. He's gonna sue me for being fat anyway."
The car doors opened.
Out stepped The Gellers.
Jack Geller: Wearing a tan suit that was too tight, looking exactly like he did in the show—boisterous and slightly inappropriate.
Judy Geller: Immaculate hair, critical eyes hidden behind sunglasses, holding a purse like a shield.
Ross Geller: 21 years old. College senior. Wearing a corduroy jacket with elbow patches (of course) and carrying a leather satchel. He looked smug.
Monica Geller: 17 years old. High school senior. She was in her "heavy" phase (as seen in the Friends flashbacks), wearing an oversized sweater, but radiating nervous energy. She was clutching a large cooler with both hands.
"Mary!" Judy cried, walking up the driveway. She didn't hug Mary; she offered a cheek. "You look... well. The heat down here hasn't ruined your complexion entirely."
"Welcome, Judy!" Mary said, her voice an octave too high. "Welcome to Medford!"
Jack Geller slapped George Sr. on the back.
"George! Look at you! Still a big fella, huh? Everything's bigger in Texas, am I right?" Jack laughed loudly at his own joke. "How's the ticker? Still pumping grease?"
"Good to see you, Jack," George sighed.
I stood on the porch, watching the collision.
Then, Ross walked up. He looked at the house, then at me.
"So," Ross said, his voice dripping with unearned intellectual superiority. "This is the... homestead. Quaint. Very... rustic."
"It's a house, Ross," I said, extending a hand. "Georgie."
Ross shook my hand limply. "Right. The football player. Mom said you won a 'big game.' That's... nice. I just secured a grant for my thesis on the Mesozoic era, but... sports are good too."
"Hi," a voice squeaked.
I looked past Ross.
Monica was standing there, struggling with the cooler.
"I brought lasagna," Monica said breathlessly. "I prepped it in New York, froze it with dry ice, and carried it on the plane. I just need an oven. Is your oven calibrated? Does it run hot?"
"Lasagna?" Meemaw appeared in the doorway behind me. She was holding a cigarette and a glass of iced tea.
The temperature on the porch dropped ten degrees.
Judy Geller lowered her sunglasses.
"Constance," Judy said.
"Judy," Meemaw replied.
"I see you're still smoking," Judy noted. "Jack says that turns your lungs into beef jerky."
"And I see you're still wearing that perfume," Meemaw shot back. "Smells like desperation and potpourri."
"Okay!" Mary shouted, clapping her hands. "Let's go inside! Who wants lemonade?"
***
The Living Room War
Ten minutes later, we were all in the living room. The tension was thick enough to choke a horse.
"So," Jack said, sitting in George's recliner (a mortal sin). "Mary tells me you're a coach now, George. Does that pay actual money, or do they pay you in livestock?"
"It pays fine, Jack," George said, gripping his beer can. "We do alright."
"Of course, of course," Jack waved his hand. "I just bought a boat. A 30-footer. Called it 'The Geller Yeller.' Get it? Because we yell?"
He laughed again. Nobody joined in.
Meanwhile, in the corner, the Nerd War had begun.
Sheldon approached Ross.
"You are Ross," Sheldon stated.
"I am," Ross smiled condescendingly. "And you must be Sheldon. I heard you like trains."
"I enjoy locomotives," Sheldon said. "But I have read your paper on the Cretaceous-Paleogene extinction event."
Ross looked surprised. "You read my paper? It's in a collegiate journal."
"I found three errors in your methodology regarding the iridium layer," Sheldon said, pulling out his file. "And your conclusion about volcanic activity is derivative of Dr. Kleiner's work from 1984. It borders on plagiarism."
Ross's smile vanished. "Excuse me? I am a university student. You are... nine."
"Intelligence is not measured by age," Sheldon said. "It is measured by the ability to interpret data without crying. Shall we begin?"
On the other side of the room, Monica was vibrating near the kitchen.
"Mary," Monica whispered. "I noticed a spot on your counter. Do you have bleach? I can get that out for you. I love getting spots out."
"The counter is clean, Monica," Mary said through gritted teeth.
"It's really not," Judy chimed in. "I saw a crumb. But it's fine, Mary. We expected... rustic conditions."
I watched it all from the hallway.
This was a powder keg. Meemaw was sharpening her tongue. Sheldon was dismantling Ross's ego. Judy was insulting Mary's housekeeping.
And we hadn't even started dinner yet.
I felt a tap on my shoulder.
It was Missy.
"This is better than TV," she whispered, eating popcorn. "How long until Dad punches Uncle Jack?"
"I give it an hour," I whispered back.
[Quest Update: Survive Thanksgiving]
* Status: Critical.
* Threat Level: Maximum.
* Ross's Ego: Under Attack.
* Mary's Sanity: 10%.