Grampy Lash

Other than the rush of air through the building’s ventilation system and the street construction noise outside that we had grown accustomed to hearing; jackhammers breaking concrete, the back-up tooting signal of revved up concrete mixers navigating in reverse to deliver their loads, the throbbing diesel engines of dump trucks laboring to pull out of deep excavations – the office was pretty quiet. The ladies working in the cubicles adjoining mine were either working contentedly on their tasks at hand, surfing the web, or taking a nap. No chatter. I was working on a project of my own, not cognizant of the prevailing pseudo silence until…

I was configuring a new laptop computer for one of our field personnel.  There are a lot of these laptops to prepare, all set up identically, and it becomes kind of boring after a while doing the same repetitive thing. So, while one of the installation processes was running on my current setup, I decided to bring up Facebook and see if there was anything new happening amongst my small circle of FB family and friends.

At my workplace, access to all social networking and video type web sites is prohibited. Any attempt to access such sites yields a stern warning that access has been denied. The warning is intimidating. The implication is that subsequent attempts might just land one out on the street. But I have other ways of reaching these forbidden fruits. The laptop I was working on had access to a non-policed wireless fidelity (Wi-Fi) network – no problem.

Having successfully signed on to Facebook, the first item that caught my eye was Jennifer’s posting about a pesky mouse that was obviously having a good time romping around in the attic space above her bedroom ceiling. Sticky paper came immediately to mind. That was the thing that seemed to have worked best for me. Before posting a reply comment recommending the sticky paper, I decided to confirm that it was still available. I switched over to good old Google and did a search on mouse sticky paper.

One of the first items on this list to catch my eye was a link to a video about mouse sticky paper. Probably a product demo, I thought to myself as I clicked on the link. Up popped the video with a frozen image of a mouse stuck on sticky paper.  I clicked play.

The volume had been set to max. The laptop’s speakers began to hiss loudly, then broadcast the crackle of the sticky paper as the mouse struggled to pull his little feet loose. My neighbors began to stir.

Holy Crap!  Where’s the damned mute button?

“Hey! Look at this!”  beckons a loud voice from the computer.

The silence had been shattered.

“Huh?” from one of the cubes next to mine.

Where’s that damned mute button? Things were happening too fast for my 62 year old brain and fingers.

A second voice from the computer, deep and slow: “That little mutha fukka’s stuuuuuck.”

“Whaaat?” crescendoed someone near me.

There’s the mute button! Too late! God help me!

“Uh… another… uh… another truck…  anotha truck is stuuuuck out there,” was the best response I could come up with.

“Ohhhh,” decrescendos the voice from nearby.

“An equipment malfunction,” I added for good measure.

The silence returned. Over the white noise, I could hear my own blood rushing.

I’m still waiting for someone to come and tell me to pack up my personal belongings, go home, and retire.

I hope Jennifer catches that little (what the laptop said above) mouse.

Earwigs… I did not know what an earwig was until I recently took it upon myself, once and for all, to identify the ominous looking insects that have been inviting themselves into my house each year, at this time of year – for the past several years.

Finally learning what they are did not improve their appearance either: long slim body, short leathery wings that look like little vests put on backwards, and a tail that resembles pincer-like forceps that look like they could inflict more pain than a pinch from my little sister. Supposedly they are harmless – unless you sit bare-assed on one (they are attracted to dampness; another good reason for men to lift the toilet seat – and maybe leave it up), or if you handle one long enough to anger it. I recoil every time I see one; Claudia yells, “There’s another one of those things!” followed by, “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”

I’m only dwelling on earwigs now because they have impacted my life so much every time they move in; kind of like the friends or relatives that come to stay a while, but you would rather they go someplace else. If nothing else, the toilet paper and water consumption has increased significantly. It’s not because these alien looking things come out at night and scare the number-two out of us (I’m not sure about Claudia; she may have scorched her shorts a few times).  It’s because every time I hear the ‘There’s- another- one- of- those- things-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it’ alarm, I have to rip off one or two squares, snatch up the crusty little critter, roll it up into a spherical shroud about the size of a marble, and then send it on a watery funereal cruise down the sewer system beneath the streets of my home town. All of this trouble just to prevent one of these things from crawling in our ears backwards and eating its way through to the other side.

It’s strange how ones cranial contents behave sometimes; at least mine anyway. Now when I see an earwig, and after I have recovered from the involuntary recoil, I think of Charles Dickens. Mr. Dickens must have had a thing for earwigs because he tossed a few in several of his novels; Dombey and Son, The Life and Times of Nicholas Nickleby, and I especially like the reference in Great Expectations:
 ‘What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There was an inhospitable smell in the room, of cold soot and hot dust; and, as I looked up into the corners of the tester over my head, I thought what a number of blue-bottle flies from the butchers’, and earwigs from the market, and grubs from the country, must be holding on up there, lying by for next summer. This led me to speculate whether any of them ever tumbled down, and then I fancied that I felt light falls on my face – a disagreeable turn of thought, suggesting other and more objectionable approaches up my back.’

This is kind of how I feel when I wander into the bathroom in the wee hours. As I return to my bed with chills running up my back, I shake, tremble, wipe my face, and flap my boxers – not out of fear, but to shake off any beady-headed hitchhikers that are hoping to sneak into my nice warm bed.

What scares me is the possibility of Claudia awakening in the middle of the night to the welcoming stare of one of these miscreant insects who has been lying in wait on her pillow.

I received the following email message from Claudia Thursday morning:
“Morning dear!  I’ve washed many Kleenex tissues, many coins, even a pen knife or two; but today I had a first.  I washed 3 peanuts.  I do think it’s important to keep your peanuts clean, but isn’t this going a bit too far?  I hope you are having a good day!  I love you and your peanuts!  Me”

Sometimes it’s fun to share intimacies between ones self and ones soul-mate just for laughs, but one must be careful lest things are taken out of context.

The preceding night, we met with my siblings and their significant others at Logan’s Steak House to celebrate the 64th wedding anniversary of our parents. We had a very pleasant time together. We all ate well, and additionally consumed lots of peanuts ( a Logan thing) – at least I did. I also stuffed a few in my pocket for the trip home in case I got the nibbles. Evidently three peanuts were tucked safely away in the folds of my pocket and escaped consumption, and remained hidden through the next day’s wash cycle.

I know… it’s hard to believe that Claudia can be just a little “nasty” sometimes, but she can. Her discovery of the clean peanuts in my freshly laundered britches was just enough to tip her scales of common decency.

Of course a response was in order:
“I take great pride in keeping my peanuts clean… all three of them.”

I am quite fortunate to be married to someone who loves my  peanuts, and seems to enjoy keeping them clean.
I just love her!