Some Folklore

Friday night was Osmizza Night, once more. Some thirty of us clambered our way up to Medeazza, followed the Bay Leaf indications, and took possession of what little tables were remaining in a room that looked much bigger before the rest of us got there.
Much fun was had. At some point, an accordion materialized between the hands of the locals, giving way to almost everybody's wild cavorting.

Meanwhile...

On arrival, a teacher was present. Said teacher was very charming about so many of his students entering an obscure homebrewed wine watering hole. He greeted us from his table, and when he left jokingly exchanged some chitchat with us.

He then proceeded to go home, shit his pants, and call the headmaster.
When the M.O.N.A. heard that a horde of his oh-so-childish-and-unreliable students were loitering in some small nearby town, he only saw it fitting to seek out such a small town, seek out the premises, and just generally give everybody a bad time. After all, that's what he thinks he's there for.

Luckily, he hasn't the slightest idea of what an osmizza is.

So he pulls out his car, put-putts his way up to Medeazza, goes around the town twice, sees nobody around, notes "no students here", goes home. He was quite obviously expecting to see a large flashing neon light saying "osmizza" in bold capital times new roman letters.
Meanwhile, we were all inside some local's house, drinking our heads off.

I consider all of this extremely folkloristic.