Friday, June 12, 2009

Not Much About Writing . . .

. . . well, at least not today.

Today, I want to share my absolutely (so he wrote with sarcasm dripping off his fingers) fantastic morning with whoever happens across my blog. Today I turned into the driveway at work (our offices are located in two historic houses, so we have a normal driveway) and noticed something in the driveway. I veered the car slightly to the left since it looked like some sort of animal. I didn't want to squish whatever the heck it was. So, park the car, and walk back up the driveway to investigate. Dead Possum! Yes, Dead Possum! Great! Fantastic! Wonderful!

Why? Because I'm always the first to arrive at work and, therefore, guess who gets to remove the Dead Possum?? Yes, you guessed it, wonderful, snarky me . . . and without a margarita in sight!

So, into the house, grab a big plastic trash bag, back outside, find a big stick - you really didn't think I was going to just pick it up with a trash bag, did you? Silly, Readers! - and back to the Dead Possum. I gently touch the allegedly (you know, they do pretend to be dead sometimes) Dead Possum with a stick. No movement. Whew! Wipe the sweat off my brow. Touch the allegedly Dead Possum with the stick a second time. Just making sure, people! Now, how do I get the frakkin' Dead Possum in the bag? Stand there for a few minutes pondering the Dead (at least I hope it's Dead) Possum. Drop bag over Dead Possum and attempt to roll Dead Possum into bag using aforementioned stick. Not Working. Frak! Try again! Still not working! Double Frak! Try one more time and push Dead Possum covered in black trash bag toward curb! Success.

Oh, wait, now Scott has to pick up bag containing Dead Possum. Insert case of heebie-jeebies! Slowly, very slowly - if the Dead Possum really isn't Dead and suddenly moves, there will be a Dead Scott laying in the parking lot for his co-workers to find - pick up the bag. No movement. Wipe sweat from brow. Slowly walk across both parking lots - fervently hoping Dead Possum doesn't suddenly become Alive Possum - toward trash cans. Possum hasn't moved . . . yet. Case of heebie-jeebies getting worse. Make it to the trash can with no movement. Delicately place Dead Possum in trash can. Heebie-jeebies still intact. Return to office and wash hands for ten minutes. OMG, where's a margarita when I need one???

Yes, that was my morning people. Trust me, had the Dead Possum moved at any point, I wouldn't be writing this blog!

So, let's hope everyone else has a much better start to their day!!

S

7 comments:

Angie Ledbetter said...

Reminds me of that old song, "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road." :) (Glad your morning trauma didn't include that particular critter. If it had and I'd been first at the office, I'd have just backed out and gone to a cafe to wait it out.) Great future story fodder, tho.

Marybeth Poppins said...

Insert - Marybeth has the heebie jeebies just thinking about it!

Tess said...

hahahahahahahahahahha

Sorry, is it rude to laugh? I hope not, because the image of you trying to scoop up a dead possum with a stick and then holding it far out to the side whilst taking it to the trash is too good not to laugh at.

I grew up in So Ca and we had tons-o-possums. Ew.

Robyn said...

Okay! Now Robyn needs a margarita just because she was being a dutiful blogger and rushing off to comment on Scott's blog, who never, ever talks about dead animals, ever. Until early afternoon, when Robyn is eating LUNCH! UGH! Lunch gets tossed. Oh well, at least Scott contributed to Robyn's diet! Sheesh! :)

Scott said...

Angie - if it had been a skunk, I would have taken your advice. : )

MaryBeth - well, at least someone has sympathy for my traumatic morning.

Tess - yeah, laugh at my trauma, I see how you are. It has made a really good story. Still, I'd prefer not to have to do it again.

Robyn - glad I could help with the diet. : ) Margaritas are at 7 central, just in case you're wondering.

PJ Hoover said...

These are the kind of experiences that make me really happy I'm of the fairer sex. But "Go you!"

Barb said...

Wonderfully written - I could feel you holding your breath as you carried the bag to bin. Hope your heart rate is back to normal now!