When Critters Attack: Day 6

Somewhere between Tuesday and today the little critter guy living underneath the mixing bowl in my living room passed away, and to be honest, I hope it was soundly.

I cautiously lifted the lid of the mixing bowl this afternoon to find him curled up into a furry ball, legs all discombobulated and slightly askance. If he were a mammal his tongue would definitely have been hanging out.

Even knowing he was dead- even then I didn't initially have the guts to pick him up. Only an hour ago did I summon my strength to scoop him into a paper towel grave, but not before poking him a little bit to see if he still had some fight left in him. You know what I mean. Bugs are just like all of the bad guys in scary movies. You think they're good and dead, but OH NO! Just kidding! With a jolt they are back to life. But alas not for this little guy.

I walked him over to my silver garbage can and flung him in. So long, farewell, aufweidersen, goodbye little amigo.

I cannot believe that I did that. Even Guantanamo Bay doesn't let its prisoners starve to death. I wish there was some sort of lesson learned here, but I can't seem to find it. I'm going to pretend that what I just did is perfectly acceptable in normal people's worlds.

Speaking of critters and creepy crawlies- I had the (non)pleasure of meeting some of the male variety this afternoon.

I had an interview in the heart of downtown Chicago on this lovely Spring day (yes, Spring, I said it. I drove to my apartment with my sun roof open, listening to cheesiness such as Third Eye Blind's "Jumper" and "Vogue" by Madonna. It was the 90's hour on the radio, ok? Lay off).

I arrived at my destination around 2:30. I stepped out of the cab, feeling fresh faced, slightly nervous, and wide-eyed with innocent naivete when it first happened.

One of the men guarding the door outside the building ran out of his little enclosure and chased me down just as I was about to push through a revolving door.

"Ma'am! Hi! I just wanted to see if you know where you are going."

I flashed him a polite and grateful smile, and told him the address. Turns out I was about to enter the wrong door, so I want to take a moment to give him a big shout out of thanks now for saving me a crapload of grief.

After thanking him, he flashed me a dazzling smile, and said, "It was nothing. But I have to say, you are SO FINE. Is there any way you can give me your number? I have to see you again."

I gave him the fake laugh that I reserve for strangers who are borderline irritating me, and joked that I would be seeing him in two hours. He yelled that he would be waiting. Spectacular.

Inside the lobby of said skyscraper, I cozied up in an empty chair and started reviewing my interview notes. You know, my cheat sheets/reminders etc. In my memorizing intensity, I looked up to see a man in a business suit sneaking glances at me as he pretended [badly] to be filling out some paperwork across the room.

I felt like looking around and doing the classic point at yourself and mouth incredulously 'me? ME?' thing. Frankly I was a tad bewildered. I was wearing a gray pinstripe Ann Klein skirt suit with three inch patent leather black heels. Nothing too different. What the hell was going on with people today?

Anyways, as I left my interview and approached the fateful set of revolving doors, I quickly glanced around to see if there were any alterior exit locations. No such luck. I could see my #1 fan looking bored in his little enclosure shack, perhaps wistfully pining for my presence, or for a work space that was bigger than 8x10.

As I sighed audibly, I gave the revolving door the ole 'heave ho' and resigned myself to whatever this man was going to bark at me as I flailed my arms wildly for a cab.

He immediately snuck out of his little shack like a cat; slinking along the pavement and eliminating the distance between us with every step. This time I was in for it.

I tried to break the ice. "See? I'm done with my interview and I came back."

But this time Mr. Door Guy was done playing around. He opted to cut right to the chase.

"Girl...I cannot get enough of you." Ok, totally totally freaky. He may or may not have ran his tongue over his lips when he said this. And the tone of voice was low and contemplative. But that wasn't the worst of it.

This man was done with civilities. This time around he was done with looking me in the eyes, or in the face for that matter. That's right, you got it- this man was staring at everything I had going on from my collarbones down. And it was beyond obvious. You know that feeling when someone is shamelessly undressing you with their eyes? Well sometimes it's kind of hot, but not when some creep man is doing it on a busy street corner in Chicago while you are trying to hail and cab and pull your hair out of your face.

And he kept staring, and wouldn't quit. I think I heard a low groan thrown in there as an added bonus. I stood there in silence, facing away from him and his prying eyes, and threw my arm up over my head and waved it wildly. I felt utterly naked.

"So can I have your phone number? I can't get enough of that body of yours."

"No, sorry, not this time (or ever)."

"Well hopefully you'll get that job so I can see you everyday. But even then, it's not enough."

WHOA. Suddenly the situation was rapidly approaching freaky stalker status. I choose not to respond to that comment, and thankfully a cab pulled up and I jumped in. I didn't look back.

So as much as I'm excited about the interview and possibly landing the job, I (of course) have somehow acquired an awkwardness factor at this place and I haven't even started yet. Since awkwardness is the premise of my life, I'll just roll with the punches. Maybe I'll start taking up bizarre work traditions like carrying pepper spray in my hand as I enter the building or raid my grandmother's closet and steal her mumu's. Either way this new job could potentially provide 300 or so days of pre and post work hell. Can't wait.