Instant ego boost.
Unfortunately I didn't get that yesterday. This person left with grace, dignity and a TON of friends behind. When my exit came, I sort of fell down the stairs and out the door. My graceful exit looked like Dick VanDyke's graceful entrance into his home. At this point I suppose it doesn't matter how I got out the door. I am where I am and it's all due to a bizarre sequence of events.
Well, later in the day, either in the same thread or a new one, the topic of 'bugs' came up. Not surprisingly we both share the same loathing for annoying little critters and I think it's safe to say that 96% of the world's population have the same 'kill or be killed' mentality. The other 4% put them in a Wok and make (what they say) is a delicious, caramelized dessert.
(here's the part where you're supposed to picture Oliver, standing with his bowl saying, "please, Sir. May I have more")?
I've eaten some weird, nasty stuff in my life including a chipmunk (don't ask) but I can't say I've ever purposefully eaten a bug. Sure, I've had them fly down my throat while riding a motorcycle or sticking my head out the car window with my mouth open but never on purpose.
Another ex co-worker chimes in on another Facebook thread and finally I stopped and began to think about this....
Who is in who's personal space? Are we the bugs to the bugs? Are we the one's who aren't supposed to be here and that's why they decide to seek us out and land on us? Kind of like storming the shores of Normandy. The problem is, besides the ants, they don't know how to rally the troops. They try and take us down one by one.
It's sort of like one mosquito says, "C'mon guys. Let's go get 'em!!". He flies down, lands on me, turns around, and his other mosquito squad is still up in the tree thinking Private Stanley was an IDIOT for going in without a plan.
Now he's all alone. There's only one thing he can do since the squad abandoned him.
Get lunch.
Jam that needle nose in and steal my blood. My life force. My personal stash that I'll need for other things. Then, after filling his little gut, he flies off like he was playing capture the flag. He stumbles into his little mosquito group, drunk on blood and me, sitting in my chair, swears I can here this little, teeny tiny crowd yell "NORM"!
Just like my two chihuahuas. Little man's complex. They look at things like we look through a pair of binoculars from the other side of the lens. Big things all of a sudden look tiny. Fat looks thin. Mean looks nice. Kind of like a fun-house mirror. For some reason we don't phase them. The odd thing is, we're 1500 times their size and we run. Don't think so?
Ever see someone do the wasp dance? You know, the one where a giant wasp swoops in for a look, you jump out of your lawn chair swinging your new copy of Sunset magazine at it and then run away maybe squeaking out some expletives?
Don't lie.
I think part of our problem with bugs and flying things is that it's 10,000 to one. We're human beings. That's it. We have 2 arms, 2 legs, 2 eyes and 2. . . of some other stuff. The bug world is armed with a whole host of different traits. Some pretty, some docile, some mean as hell, some that crawl, some that fly, and some that just want to bully us into submission.
You have everything from fire flies who are pretty, fun and relatively harmless to Bees and Wasps who'll do anything to tattoo you with their ass. Problem is they only know one tattoo. A big red and white bump. Hurts the same but somehow we know the difference in our defenses. We'll swat at a wasp and shoo a bee but most of us won't beat the shit out of our tattoo artist because now you're just looking for them to tattoo "asshole" across your forehead.
My move from California to North Carolina was a complete swap of everything. Different trees, different plants, different bugs, and critters I haven't seen anywhere. I'm trying to soak it all in and if there's anything I've learned it's just 'be cool' and don't freak out. Tell yourself they're harmless and slowly back away.
Other times I look for a weapon and smash the crap out of them so I don't have to keep repeating those lines in my head.
Today, however, was different. WAY different.
I woke up early like I always do, brew a pot of coffee, pop some meds, load up Facebook and start catching up from the previous night until the coffee is done.
Finally my second life force is done brewing and I return to my desk to start working. I pour the first cup and something catches the corner of my eye, like my screensaver is kicking on.
Nope. A bug. And in my brain I yelled louder than I've ever yelled to myself in my 43 years on planet earth.
"HOLY SHIIIIIITTTT!!!!!!"
What happened to the calm, cool, collected Animal Planet loving guy? Well, after he pooped his pants he came up with an idea.
"OK", I say to myself. I'm going to catch him. But I'm not going to catch him in the conventional way. See, my friend Rick was here a few days ago and we went around the NASCAR sights so he could pick up some souvenirs and take some pictures. His camera crapped out on the first day so I grabbed our little point and shoot and took it with us.
Well, it just happens to be sitting right next to me. Seeing as I always tell you what must, at times, seem like tall tales, I decided I'm going to SHOW you this time.
I take a swig of coffee and reach for the camera. My hands are shaking because this thing is freakin' HUGE for a bug. He's on the wall over my desk and I'm literally praying he wasn't going to slip and fall, land on my desk, freak himself out and make a run for it across my keyboard. If that happened, I'd be standing in line at the Apple store waiting to have my computer fixed.
I really didn't want to tell the guy at the fixit counter that it was busted by a bug. That's a "dog ate my homework" line.
The bug moves, then stops. Moves, then stops. I'm trying to snap a picture of him but when that little red light comes on to judge the focus distance it pisses him off and he moves again. Now I'M getting pissed. I'm now officially on a mission. I'm going to chase this little f*kcer down and take his picture if it kills me.
We play a small game of cat and mouse along my wall. I'm clearly at a disadvantage because I have to wait for my flash to charge every time I take a picture. THAT, my friends, is a pain in the ass when you're in a hurry to take a picture and your camera says it isn't ready yet, like it's putting on make-up or asking if it's butt looks too big in these pants.
"C'MON"!, I say. I'm in a hurry to get this thing as he's scurrying across my wall.
Then I take a few steps back, look at the wall and think, "now he's done it". He's approaching my Beatles poster. Hallowed ground. Touch it and you die. I'm trying to be cool by taking your picture and then I'll catch you in a cup and let you go. But step on Ringo's face and your as good as dead. You'll get a flick so hard you'll land on the other side of the room. (can't smash him because Ringo wouldn't look good with bug blood on his face).
Well, the little shit did it. He made it to the Beatle poster. Just as I take one last picture, I put the camera down and whip out my flip finger.
?
I'm still about 3 feet away when it happens. He hit the slick surface of the poster and slipped. Now he's lying on the rug, getting his legs out from underneath him, gathering his bearings and decides where he's going to go.
Well, after I jumped up on the bed, which had to have been a sad, yet comical sight, I ran to the kitchen to get a cup and some paper. Since he technically didn't soil my poster I decided he could live. Running through your house at 6:30A isn't something you do very often.
I returned with the cup and paper within about 9 seconds. I walk in my office and my heart stopped beating as my eyes glazed over and stared at middle distance for at least 15 minutes.
He was gone.
....oh SHIT!
(pictures will be posted on FB later today so it doesn't just look like a random bug picture)
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment