Swan/Goose

Last winter, I got really, really sick. I’m talking like, “kill me now!” because I would rather die than struggle to suck air into my face any longer. However, attempting to be a 'trooper' as my Mother would say, I sucked it up and headed into work at 6:30 a.m. I knew there was no way that I would make it without some kind of cold remedy to haze over my world, so I made a stop at the Jewel. I did the unthinkable.

Instead of parking my car in a spot (the lot was empty, however, the focus should be on how sick I was here), I found it more appropriate to park my car in the “No Parking Zone” in front of the sensor doors. As I’m coming to a stop, I noticed something. Something I had never seen before. Something strange. Something a little off. Something dangerous.

Geese.

Two of ‘em. Just hanging out. I was terrified. Allow me to pause for a moment to time warp into another story.

I’m 20 years old, on a golf course with my Dad. We are coming up to the green and on this particular hole we have to walk over a bridge to putt. For those who have trouble putting two and two together, the hole is surrounded by water. I probably don’t have to tell you this, but geese love water. Something about feeling at home… I don’t know. So we make it onto the island all right. We putt in, and begin the trek back to the cart. My Dad has a tendency to hit golf balls into the water and then he proceeds to look for them, like they are going to magically be floating, or jump out of the water and say, “Here I am! You LOST me!!!!” So as he is looking, this swan starts getting p.o.-ed. I’m not ever sure where the thing came from, but it appeared like an evil bird-spirit whose burial ground we had just desecrated. (And yes, I know that geese are different than swans, but they are pretty much the same thing… you know it, I know it… moving on.) So this thing starts flappin’ it wings and struttin’ its stuff over to my Dad.

Now, the resilient man that he is, he figures, "Hey, I’m armed!” So he decides that waiving his putter at the evil swan/goose will make it go away. At this point I am at a full on sprint to the cart. That thing’s wing span was about the size of my body. I know when and how to pick my battles and that day, I chose life.

So I get in the driver’s seat and start pulling away, thoughtfully leaving my father to battle the swan/goose all by his lonesome. When he realizes that the putter is not scaring the monster off, he books it for the cart. By this time I am pedal to the floor, going about 10 mph. (I have and will always have this mental video of my father, the ex-marine, running in slow motion, waiving his putter screaming “STOP!!!” while this massive swan/goose is chasing him. It’s one of my favorites.) So, he eventually catches up with the kart and with a running leap, topples in the passenger seat. The devil bird took a swipe at him as he jumped in, and again, pedal to the floor, we got the cart up to 15 and busted it out of there.

So, need-less-to-say, swan/geese scare me a little. ‘Time-in’ on original story:

By this time, 6:50 a.m. in the parking lot of a Jewel, two geese are trying to get in. I instinctively rubbed my eyes hard to make sure I was not dreaming, after all, I’m on my death bed. I realize that I either have to sneak past the geese, or find another place to go to get the medicine I desperately need. Mind you, I’m out-numbered. However, I decided that it was worth the risk.

As I make my approach, another horrible thought ran through my head. What if I let them in? I cause chaos and havoc at 7 a.m. at Jewel and I’m late for work and I’m still sick and I get fired and attacked by two geese and I’m in the hospital. I figured the hospital might not be a bad idea at this point anyway, so I go for it. Ace Ventura-ish, I glue myself to the wall and slide across the building. “Maybe they won’t see me…” I make it to the Jedi doors and slip in. I grab my cold medicine and book it back out. By that time they were gone.

Was it real? Could it be that my mind created this goose mirage due to clouded thoughts and fuzzy judgment? Was it because I parked in the "No Parking Zone?" I can’t help but think that I got away with something that day. Like, the swan/geese have it out for me. They are very good at showing up in obscure places, making me distraught and genuinely concerned for my own well-being. Maybe the swan/goose exists for the sole purpose to keep me in line. Maybe I'll see them in hell.

Raid Always Wins: A Metaphorical and Literal Exploration of a Halloween Past

When I was in junior high, I had a core group of friends. In fact, we were clever enough to come up with a nickname for the group, and corresponding names for each individual group member. Please Note: The key words so far are "junior high" and "clever." The name of the group was the Fruit Loops (this was 1998 and much before any derogatory terms could pierce our young minds). Naturally, no pun intended, we all were named after a fruit. Some of the fruits that were lucky enough for us to entitle ourselves after them were cherry, peach, grape, kiwi and lemon. I was the lemon (not funny) (meh, kind of funny).

As any other core group of 13-years-old girls would do, we followed each other everywhere. Rarely was there a moment when were not all together. We even had one of those notebooks that the popular girls pass around to write who they are in love with that week and what their mom served for dinner that they refused to eat. However, one day the truce, the sisterhood and the love was broken. That day was none other than, ironically, Halloween.

It was a struggle up to the day before for the five us to decide on what to wear for Halloween. Past Oct. 31s brought us together as Teletubbies, a day which I remember fondly because we looked good that day (If you are not familiar with what a Teletubbie is, please follow link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejzg5bCvT1U&feature=related). But this year, there was something different. There was an indescribable funk in the air. The funk of girls growing older and becoming more opinionated and bitchy. Maybe it was PMS, but I'm pretty sure that I just blatantly got forgotten on Halloween circa '98.

I remember going over the one of the girls houses the night before to hang out, or so I thought. In retrospect, I probably invited myself. However, sure enough, I showed up and what was scattered all over the pink carpet? Bug costumes. "What is this?" I asked, slightly panic-y. "Did you guys get costumes?"

"Yeah, aren't they cute?!?" said one of the backstabbers.

My prompt retort: "What am I going to wear?!"

"Ohhhh... Um...."

And that was the moment. The dreaded moment in a junior high girl's life when she realizes, "I've been left out!" I could feel the tears well up, but there was no way I was going to let these fake fruits (pun) get away with this.

Later that evening when I arrived home, I immediately ran to my mother to cry. "Mom, they left me out! I HATE THEM! HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO ME!?!?"

"Oh, it’s ok, Meggie," she said.

"What am I going to do? Halloween is tomorrow and I don't have a costume?" There's something about the complaining moments of a preteen girl. They are high pitched, the syllables stretch, ect. Very much like how a dying cat. "What am IIIIIII goingggggg to dooooo? Haaaaalloweeen is tomorrowwwww?!?!?!" You get the idea.

"I know what we can do..." And then, like switchblade (shwing, swipe), my mother concocted what could quite possibly have been her most diabolical scheme she ever told me about.

We quickly jumped in the car and ran to the nearest grocery store. We would find all pertinent items to make my revenge costume there. When we got home, we turned my room into some kind of evil lab. I pulled out the scissors and Elmer's.
We worked diligently through the night, cutting and pasting, shaping and sculpting. But 10 p.m. we had completed the masterpiece and if I may say so, I looked good...

I went to school the next day to an orchestra of apologies. "Meg, I think we have an extra (fill in stupid bug here) costume, if you want to wear it?"

"No," I replied. "I am all set. I'll see you guys later tonight." It was perfect. For 13-years-old, I was sly and cunning. I was short and smooth. It was one of those perfect junior high days when you have a secret that EVERYONE wants to know.

And finally my moment arrived. We pulled up in my Mom's SUV and her and I got out. The rest of the giddy, curious girls piled out of the house to see what my costume was. We opened the back door and pulled out my red cardboard cylinder. I slid it on over my head and put on my spout. And there I was, the perfect life-size replica of a can of Raid.

Gasps filled the air. "Megan, you're going to wear that?!?!" If only I was allowed to swear at that tender age, I would have said something like, "What's up bitches! I'm-a about to f*ck you up!"

I have been asked if there was animosity in the air for the rest of the evening. My response, "Well, let’s put it this way: junior highers + free candy? The argument didn’t last long. Pretty soon we were hopped up on Skittles and Snickers and all was forgiven.”

So, Halloween, 1998: It was a battle of epic proportions. And, I may have lost the battle, but I won the war. Who do you think random strangers providing us with candy gave the most to? A couple of lady bugs and bumble bees? Mmmm … No way. And so it rings true in costumes and in life: Raid always wins.

(Umm... Hindsite: there's history on my work computer that I searched for "teletubbies." I think I hear the dudes from IT now... )