Economists Banned for Excessive Use Of Charts.

By Tom Seest

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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🎤 Audio Overview

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ACT I – The Spark That Lit the Trailer Park Theory

Few events in town history created such chaos as the morning Clovis Strickland posted his now-infamous message in the Sequatchie Crossing Enquirer & Swap Shop & Unofficial Crime Reports Facebook Group:

“Inflation in Sequatchie Crossing is caused by ONE GUY selling the trailer park. Wake up, people.”

This was accompanied by a blurry photo of a possum, because Clovis still hadn’t figured out how to attach the right image.

Within minutes, comments exploded faster than a fryer turkey in last year’s Thanksgiving incident.

Boot Barnes chimed in first:

“Which guy? And which trailer park? And which inflation?”

Boot asked questions like a man with absolutely no intention of reading answers.

Mabel Dean Ashcroft, who treated the Facebook group with the reverence other people reserve for Scripture, replied:

“Boot, don’t complicate things. Inflation is obviously connected to land transfers. I saw something about it on a YouTube channel run by a retired magician.”

Meanwhile, Sheriff Peeler, who monitored the group under his anonymous account ConcernedCitizen74, watched with familiar dread and quietly texted Deputy Flora Mae:

“We might need to prepare the folding chairs for an emergency town meeting.”

The Mysterious Buyer

The rumor spreading through Sequatchie Crossing was simple, elegant, and completely wrong:

Someone – name unknown, motives unclear – had purchased Pine Knot Trailer Village, population: 36 humans, 14 dogs, 2 goats, and an unlicensed emu.

Ergo, inflation.

Prices rising?
Gas up 20 cents?
Eggs high again?
Boot’s ham biscuit now $4 instead of $3.50?

All connected.

At least, according to the group.

Clovis doubled down:

“Follow. The. Money.”

No one knew what money he meant.

But they followed anyway.

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ACT II – The Economists Arrive (Briefly)

The County Brings in Reinforcements

County Executive Lyle Crouch, who had not slept since the Goat Licensing Ordinance hearings, decided the only way to calm the online mob was to bring in economists from Chattanooga State Community College.

This decision was made in a moment of pure panic, similar to when he once approved a citywide leaf-blower curfew.

The economists arrived wearing khakis and carrying more charts than anyone in Sequatchie Crossing had ever seen at once.
One of them, Dr. Harper, attempted to introduce himself:

“Inflation is a complex macroeconomic – ”

At which point half the room got up to refill their coffee.

“ – and cannot be attributed to the sale of a trailer park by an individual – ”

Mabel Dean stood and declared:

“That’s exactly what someone who didn’t want us to know would say.”

The room murmured with agreement.

Boot whispered loudly to Clovis:

“He sounds guilty.”

Clovis whispered back:

“Most experts are.”

The Chart Incident

The turning point came when Dr. Harper attempted to project a line graph.

The projector – a relic inherited from Reverend Gentry’s 1998 sermon series PowerPoint for the Lord – produced a chart so warped and rainbow-hued that it looked like inflation was spiraling into another dimension.

The townspeople gasped.

Some believed this was evidence of corruption.

Others believed inflation had a personality.

Reverend Gentry said it resembled “the Beast rising from Revelation.”

Sheriff Peeler finally stepped forward:

“Alright, folks. No more graphs. No more charts. By authority granted to me under Section 3 of the Fellowship Hall Code of Conduct – specifically the part that forbids ‘disturbances involving lasers, projections, or audiovisual sorcery’ – I’m gonna have to escort our guests out.”

The economists were politely walked to the parking lot, their charts fluttering behind them like surrender flags.

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ACT III – The Facebook Group Goes Full Detective

Once experts were removed, the Facebook group felt liberated – finally free to analyze inflation the way they believed God intended: loudly, incorrectly, and with screenshots taken at odd angles.

Clovis launched the unofficial Sequatchie Crossing Inflation Investigation Unit, consisting of:

himself

Mabel Dean

Boot Barnes (accidentally added, but stayed anyway)

Trixie Jo Bartlett, who thought this was a new book club

They created a conspiracy map in the Fellowship Hall using yarn donated by the Quilting Guild.

They connected the trailer park sale to:

rising egg prices

gas station coffee tasting “too fancy all of a sudden”

Sheriff Peeler’s new boots

and widespread reports that Mabel Dean’s muffins had gone up 25 cents

Boot Barnes Reveals a Shocking Discovery

Boot, having stumbled into detective work much as a calf stumbles into a fence, brought forth his “findings”:

“I drove past the trailer park, and the gate was open instead of closed.
So obviously the new owner is hiding something.”

Trixie Jo asked:

“Boot… could it just be open?”

Boot shook his head with confidence rare for a man who once misidentified a garden hose as a venomous worm:

“Not in this economy.”

He then presented a hand-drawn diagram of two stick figures exchanging a rectangle labeled “MONEY???.”

It convinced half the task force.

Meanwhile: A Secondary Crisis Emerges

Over at the Dollar General, prices went up by ten cents across multiple aisles.
People blamed:

climate change

corporate greed

the trailer park sale

or all three simultaneously

Boot blamed the moon cycle.

Clovis blamed out-of-town developers.

Mabel Dean blamed “moral erosion brought on by too many people buying pre-shredded cheese.”

Sheriff Peeler, exhausted, blamed the Facebook group:

“If they debate inflation long enough, I might inflate.”

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ACT IV – The Reveal That Should Have Solved Everything (But Didn’t)

After three weeks of growing drama, confusion, and yarn expenditures, the mysterious buyer of Pine Knot Trailer Village finally attended the emergency Town Hall meeting.

It was none other than:

Miss Eleanor Cartwright, the 83-year-old widow who lived on Overlook Ridge and baked infamous saltless cookies every Christmas.

She stepped up to the mic:

“I bought the trailer park because I wanted somewhere to put my nephew’s tiny home. That’s it. Nothing to do with inflation.”

The room fell silent.

Boot whispered:

“Is that… allowed?”

Trixie Jo whispered:

“People buy things, Boot.”

Clovis, unwilling to let go of a perfectly good conspiracy, stood:

“But what about the eggs? The gas? The biscuits? The chart the economist man showed us?”

Miss Eleanor blinked slowly, the way only the very elderly or extremely patient can:

“Honey, inflation is happening everywhere. Not just in Sequatchie Crossing.”

The room gasped – the idea that events beyond the county line might affect them was entirely new.

Even Reverend Gentry seemed shaken:

“So… are you saying we’re not the center of the universe?”

Miss Eleanor shrugged:

“Not economically, no. Emotionally? Maybe. Depends who you ask.”

The Group Reacts

Boot accepted her explanation immediately, mostly because he respected anyone who could stare down Clovis without blinking.

Trixie Jo nodded – she had suspected something reasonable from the start.

Mabel Dean folded her arms:

“Global inflation, local inflation… doesn’t matter. My muffins still cost more to make.”

Clovis refused to yield:

“There must be a deeper plot.”

Sheriff Peeler rubbed his temples:

“Son, sometimes the price of milk just goes up.”

Clovis replied:

“Not on my watch.”

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ACT V – The Resolution That Was Absolutely Not a Resolution

After the meeting, the group’s moderators released a formal announcement:

“Inflation remains under investigation.
Economists are banned until further notice.
Charts require pre-approval.
The trailer park case is considered inconclusive.”

This was followed by a 600-comment thread arguing about whether comments should be allowed on official statements.

People complained prices were still rising.

People complained others were complaining.

People wondered if the trailer park might still somehow be involved.

Boot eventually posted:

“Y’all, Eleanor already told us it wasn’t her.”

But the group ignored him.

Sheriff Peeler Implements a New Policy

The Sheriff’s Office announced a new rule:

For any future economic discussions, citizens must first pass a 5-question quiz.

Questions included basics like “What is inflation?” and “Is the trailer park sale responsible for everything that inconveniences you?”

Most failed.

Clovis claimed the quiz was “rigged by globalists.”

Mabel Dean suggested the town form a “Committee for Price Stabilization,” which sounded reasonable until she started describing muffin subsidies.

Boot Barnes volunteered to run the committee’s outreach program, pending someone explaining economics to him “using biscuits as examples.”

A New Normal

By week’s end, life in Sequatchie Crossing returned to its version of normal:

eggs still cost more

muffins still cost more

gas still cost more

and Clovis still believed something was being hidden

Miss Eleanor installed her nephew’s tiny home and promptly forgot the entire ordeal.

The economists sent an email saying they were willing to try again “when the town feels ready.”
Sheriff Peeler scheduled that email to auto-archive forever.

Facebook Group chaos settled into its familiar hum.

Everything had been explained.

Nothing had been accepted.

And that, more than anything, was Sequatchie Crossing in a nutshell.

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EPILOGUE – A Town Enlightened, But Unchanged

In the quiet of a late Sequatchie evening, the town came to a gentle equilibrium.

Boot Barnes rocked on his porch, deciding economics was too complicated unless explained with gravy metaphors.

Mabel Dean adjusted her muffin prices again – “because inflation or not, blueberries ain’t free.”

Sheriff Peeler settled into his recliner, proud of surviving another day without having to confiscate a projector.

Clovis drafted a 47-point manifesto explaining why Miss Eleanor might actually be a mastermind, complete with arrows, circles, and a doodle of the emu from Pine Knot Trailer Village.

And Trixie Jo wrote in her journal:

“Nothing was solved today.
But everyone feels better.
Except the economists.”

The swirling sky over Sequatchie Crossing glowed gold and lavender – uncertain, comedic, chaotic, and somehow hopeful.

Inflation continued.
The trailer park remained exactly where it was.
And the Facebook group?

Already onto its next crisis.

As always.

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Disclaimer

This serialized Dispatch episode is a fictional work set in the imaginary town of Sequatchie Crossing.
All characters – Boot Barnes, Clovis Strickland, Mabel Dean Ashcroft, Sheriff Peeler, Reverend Gentry, Trixie Jo Bartlett, and others – are fictional representations used for satire.
Any resemblance to real people, places, events, or Facebook groups where people argue about things they haven’t researched is purely coincidental, although frankly, if it feels familiar, that’s between you and your conscience.

Local economics, inflation models, trailer-park transfer pricing, and the chart-related disciplinary measures referenced herein are entirely fictionalized.
No economists were harmed in the writing of this Dispatch, although two were politely escorted out of the Fellowship Hall by Sheriff Peeler for attempting a PowerPoint.

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