CHAPTER ONE
Monday I was eating lunch on the patio at work. Chicken tortellini soup, garden salad with vidalia onion dressing, Lipton's iced tea. It was a REALLY nice day! And there's a really nice patio where I work!
Suddenly! DANGER! Sound of bug buzzing, feeling of bug falling down inside neckline of shirt! Jumping up! Waving arms! Co-worker Kelli looking like "Oh crap, am I going to have to do the heimlich maneuver?"
STOP! Nobody move... easy.... careful......
I couldn't feel anything and I thought it was all over. Kelli couldn't see anything and we thought it was all over. But just to make sure, I pulled my shirt tight against my back and asked Kelli if she saw anything crawling under the fabric.
WELL! She didn't SEE anything, but I FELT a small lump of moving chitin on my shoulder! Creepy!
My back tingled electricity as the creature's tiny spiny legs scrambled for purchase on my naked skin. I pulled my shirt out away from my body and shook, hoping to dislodge the beast, but it was no good. He was holding on for dear life!
There was nothing else I could do - I had to go in! Reaching underneath the back hem of my shirt, up under my t-shirt, I reached up... up... couldn't reach the little bastard!
Reaching behind my neck and going in from the top, my fingers found the invader at the bottom of my right shoulder blade. "Whew!" I breathed. "It's just a june bug! I can tell! It feels like a little june bug!"
I pulled the bug out to show it to Kelli and held before her eyes a BEE! I jumped and flung my hand spastically, my reflexes lightning fast! The tiny bee flew past Kelli's face and off into the trees. I calmly sat down and enjoyed the rest of my lunch, sharing my adventure with all who joined us as we ate, undisturbed by any more wild animals. The scent of man was now in the air, warning all wildlife "Stay away! You are no match for man!"
CHAPTER TWO
As I was going to take my lunch tray and dishes back to the cafeteria, I stopped to speak with co-worker Tara and her boyfriend Justin. "You have bird poop on your shirt!" exclaimed Tara.
"What?" I cried. "No way!" But close inspection confirmed our worst fears - Yes! There was bird poop on my shirt tail!
NOW WHAT? I raced to my cubicle, certain that I had a spare shirt in my desk drawer. But I did not! I know I had one there, but...
I looked in co-worker Rick's cubicle and there hung a shirt on the wall! A beautiful, clean, poop-free shirt! Of course Rick let me wear it the rest of the day. It's a jungle out there - but we're all very civilized where I work.
Later, I had to run upstairs and share with Tara the revelation that dawned on me: That bee was actually a Guardian Angel! If he had not caused me to rip my shirt tail out during lunch, there would have been bird poop on my PANTS! And NO clean pants hanging on co-worker Rick's wall!
You may think this is a happy ending, and you may think there is a sugar-coated all creatures great and small moral here. But there is not! For every Guardian Angel bee on the patio, there's a bird pooping in a chair. The life of a designer / illustrator is filled with danger!
And that's just the way I like it!
10 comments:
This is almost as ill as your Mark Martin fan fiction.
The sheer effort involved and focussed on...this kind of thing--the Mark Martin fan fiction, the blog opera, this--it reminds me a little of those people that make life-sized castles out of beer bottles, or paint portraits of Jesus on a single human hair. You have to tip your hat to them. You also have to wonder what spurs them on. In fact, the Jesus portrait human hair thing makes more sense as a kind of bid for immortality--it's a monument in miniature to Jesus, meant to last. But this is totally ephemeral. I mean, that took some effort right there. And all for the amusement and bewilderment of a handful of folks.
Mark Martin fan fiction is now just a memory for a sweet few of us. As soon this too will be.
I solute you, Mark Martin. I solute you.
Wow, that adventure had me sweating! Like, extra sweat on top of the sweat already brought out by the heat. You could tell these sweat droplets apart, though, because the new ones smelled like FEAR.
I once nigh-unconsciously brushed what I assumed to be a leaf or small bit of airborne plant matter from my hair and found it was actually a bee, which stung my hand. I was just minding my own business!
In other "news": I'm ashamed to say that up 'til today I only owned Runaway #1, because I'd been meaning to order #2 from Panel To Panel so I could get the nifty bonus mini, but I hardly ever get around to buying things online.So today,too late to change the tragic course of history, I bought #2 & 3 at Modern Myths.
Jabberous archiving proceeds apace (a leisurely pace, but still).
Man, this was your best blog post EVER.
More! "DAISY BIT MY FINGERTIP OFF!" or "I FACED THE BEAR ON MY LAWN!" are naturals. You rule today!
MAN! I will not let Eric read this story, as he has an unnatural horror of stinging insects. It would CREEP HIM OUT. Even I, who fear no bug (except potato bugs!) was slack-jawed with terror. Lordy!
NOW I know WHY I stopped eating on that stupid patio!
Have fun, Jungle Jim!
~slatts
I don't get the unnatural obsession with clothes free of bird doo.
It'll rinse right off!
What WOULD you have done if there hadn't been a spare shirt or it had landed on your pants?
Run crying home so fast to Jeannie that you had tears of embarrassment streaming horizontally from your eyes?
Don't forget, I had on a T-shirt too! I could survive in just a T-shirt. But I do not want to embarrass my employers. What if an important dignitary toured the facilities and I'm sitting around in my t-shirt like Norton??
If it had been on my pants, I'd go to the restroom and wash it THOROUGHLY with hot water. I'd rather have a wet spot and a resulting rash on my bum than have poo on me!
Benny, you know my motto - "I'd rather CHAFE!"
Wait, I thought that was Condi's motto. She chafes me regularly.
This story is lacking the "human interest" angle. It would have been much more interesting if, instead of an insect, a human had climbed inside your shirt with you, and if, instead of bird poop, your shirt had been stained with human excrement which had been left on the chair.
The part of "The Pinkhamster" was played by G. G. Allin.
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