Yesterday I got run out of my office by horrendous "paint fumes." At least that's what the contractor called them. I'm pretty sure I passed out for a bit and he stuck Sharpies up my nose, then left my head in a bucket of gasoline. It's hard to verify though.
Working from the "coffee bar" down the hall wasn't so bad at first. It was freeeezzzzzinggg cold, sure. But it smelled better. And the chairs are cushioned.
Unfortunately, around 4 p.m. I was greeted by a furry friend. The kind that would have offered to bake me a cake, or sew me a dress if my hair was blonde. But since it's brown, he instead offered to scare the crap out of me. An offer I accepted.
Doing exactly what my Mom taught me to do, I screamed for help like my life depended on it.
"Ah. Ah. He's back!" I shouted,
having been warned of his existence once before.
Actually, I didn't do exactly what my dear, sweet mother taught me. I didn't jump up on the nearest chair. (But don't worry Mom; my reservation was only 'cause I was wearing a skirt.) I panicked best I could.
Thankfully the business administrator/office manager/all-around good guy/person who knows where the sticky traps are came quickly to my rescue. But, putting out the trap didn't make me feel altogether better about finishing the day out with a 2 inch-long hoodlum on the loose at my feet.
What can you do though, besides prop up your feet?
By the time I got home (after my monthly visit to Target to see everything in the store) I was feeling fine. I had forgotten about my furry friend.
That is, until this morning.
Long before I even made it to work to check on the whereabouts of, let's just call him Thing One, I was greeted by another less furry, and even less friendly creature.
You guessed it. We'll call him Thing Two.
Thing Two was none other than a baby alligator (as my Grandma calls them). You might know them as geckos, but that's not nearly as dramatic.
Whatever you call him, the little orange creature rudely decided to join me in the shower at 8 a.m. Without my permission, or his own bar of soap I might add.
My initial thought was to react the way my grandmother would - to duct tape every surface in sight in hopes of keeping him from coming back. But since I no longer keep duct tape in my bathroom - and since that wouldn't solve the crisis at hand (the alligator that was already looking all too comfortable hanging out in my shower) - I opted for option B. I'd like to think this, again, is what my mother would do.
I went down the hall and used my sister's shower.
(Turns out her shampoo smells better than mine.)
As I continued to get ready I checked on Thing Two's progress.
I picked out layers to combat the "coffee bar" cold.
He paced from the drain to the middle of the tub.
I blew dry my hair.
He examined my shoer curtain liner.
I contemplated trying to catch him under a bowl or jar or something, but that would have involved putting my hand far too close to him. So I settled for leaving him exactly the way I found him... stark naked in the bottom of my tub, but with a briefcase waiting to sell me car insurance.
When I finally arrived at work this morning, scathed by the shower experience, I was crushed to realize my fear come true. Not only were the fumes even stronger than yesterday, my furry friend had done the one thing worse than crawling up my pant leg. He had died tragically in the sticky trap I begged to be put out.
There his limp body lay, as a sad reminder of my inadequacies at dealing with diversity in the work place, as well as a horrible obstacle standing between me and my morning Folgers.
Not the best part of waking up, I must say.
After some whining and careful avoidance, Thing One's tiny corpse was moved to a slightly more permanent resting place (the dumpster out back, which will eventually transport him to his great home in the sky).
But while Thing One is gone, his memory lingers on. And, frankly, I'm not sure what to make of it. What's up with this sudden critter invasion? Or the odd tinge of guilt I felt this morning while he was carted off, and I looked away.
I feel like maybe there's a lesson to be learned. But I'm not sure what it is. Maybe, I'm not ready to accept what it is.
On the tiny brightside, while I try to figure out why I feel like such a failure when it comes to the furry Things in my life, I will leave you with what might be the world's catchiest song about Nature behaving badly.
Really, though, I think it's a song about Things being Things, with maybe a hint of People being fools.
Yea, I think it's more People behaving badly. And Nature acting as God intended.
I'm not saying we should all start showering with British geckos, by the way. Just that perhaps it is time I re-evaluate the way I handle all the Things different than me.
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