The Unfortunate Intruder

It's been raining here a lot lately.

Not just typical August-style raining. We've been dealing with the all-day-long, thunder-and-lightning, high-winds-and-hail, torrential downpour kind of rain.

After a week or more of this weather, we're left with sodden ground, lots of standing water and puddles, and a longing for the sunshine.

Finally, the clouds parted yesterday and the sun peeked feebly out, as if to check to see if the coast was clear. And for the first day in a week, I was able to go outside, breathe in the fresh (wet) air, and proceed with my day as normal.

For those who are long time readers, you know that my job is a strange one. I live where I work, and vice versa. And my normal morning routine goes like this: wake up, shower, dress, fret with my new (longer) hairstyle, walk to the office, open the office, and go outside to get the golf cart. 

So there I was, bopping along, a song in my heart and a smile on my face. Whistling a since-forgotten tune, I opened up the unit door so I could retrieve the golf cart for the day. 

I should pause here to remind you that, as an official Spider-Hater, I am always hyper vigilant when it comes to keeping an eye out for them. Especially when I'm entering a situation where they have been known to linger before. So, every day, twice a day, when I open that unit door, I automatically go into "Scan for Spider" mode. That, along with the sudden "clicking" sound, was the only thing that alerted me to the unfortunate intruder.

For the first time in nearly 9 years, it wasn't a spider, or a hoppy toad, or a waterbug that greeted me when I opened the door.

It was an honest-to-goodness crawfish.

And he was less happy to see me than I was to see him.

My immediate gut reaction was to run for the hills, screaming Brian's name all the way back to the safety of the office. Here I was, all by myself, in flip flops, facing a ditch shrimp. Terrific.

But I hesitated just long enough for Mr. Crawfish to begin backing himself in a corner, little claws at the ready, clicking and clacking the whole way. He literally quivered with fear. And my terror turned to concern for The Little Guy's welfare. I quickly scanned the contents of the unit, looking for tools that I could use to strategize LG's rescue.

Leaning against the wall in the opposite corner was my trusty old lobby dust pan and broom set. You know--the kind of dust pan that closes and traps the dirt inside. I picked it up, and it was slightly heavy from dust and debris. I considered walking to the trash can on the other side of the building to empty it, but as I turned to walk away, LG started to back himself into a corner that I knew I'd never retrieve him from unharmed. 

"Well, buddy, you're just gonna have to hold your breath for a minute, then," I mumbled. And I situated myself so that my toes were as far enough away from LG as possible, placing the dust pan between us. Very carefully, I nudged LG into the dust pan with the broom.

If he was scared before, he was royally peeved now. The insistent little "click click" of his claws was now a louder "clack clack" combined with what I can only describe as a hissing sound that came from his body. He attacked the broom bristles with gusto, clasping onto them and refusing to let go. LG's resistance to the dust pan increased my anxiety to a fever pitch. There may have been wailing involved.

After a 5 minute struggle, I finally got the poor man's lobster safely inside the dust pan. Unfortunately, it does not lock. So I beat feet to the golf cart, leaned the dust pan against the seat so it would stay closed, and threw that sucker into reverse. I drove about 200 yards, to the back of the facility and the swamp beyond. I could hear him clicking his claws menacingly from the confines of his dusty prison.

I parked the cart, carefully took the dust pan, and carried it to the closest point to water that I could get to (without getting my feet wet). I chose the perfect spot, spread my feet wide, and carefully tipped the dust pan so that its contents (crawdaddy and all) slid out onto the marshy ground. LG was covered in dust and debris. And guess what, ya'll? He was STILL angry.

I waited, hoping for that moment where he would realize his freedom and scurry into the dark, swirling water. The music would swell, a lone tear would roll down my cheek, and all would be right with the world. But The Little Guy just sat there, in his pile of filth and debris, clacking his claws at me angrily. So I climbed back onto my golf cart, bid him goodbye, and went back to my day.

I went to check on him later in the day, and he was gone, with only a little trail of dirt leading to the fence line to let me know he'd been there at all. 

Farewell, my dirty little friend. May you live on to scare the s**t out of someone else another day.

Summer Storm

It starts in the sky. Clouds darken, fill, blackening the horizon. Moments later, a distant rumble, a flash of lightning...all signs of an incoming summer storm. I grab my camera and dash outside to meet it, mood whipped into a frenzy from too many phone calls, too many distractions. I need a moment with Mother Nature, and she's going to provide me with a temper tantrum much like the one I've been craving to throw all day.

The temperature, 100 degrees in the shade, begins to plummet as the storm crosses the sun's path. The wind picks up, howling between the buildings, whipping the tree limbs back and forth, like She's waving a white flag--begging to release the fury. The sky darkens to a deep indigo. The weather vanes quiver, then begin to spin.

All the frustration, irritation, and anger I've felt in the last few hours start to pop up to the surface with each picture I take. My fingers tingle. I take a breath in, let it out, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. As the storm builds around me, I feel my tense muscles begin to release. And then--a flash of lightning splinters across the sky. "One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand," I mutter under my breath. It's closing in. It's coming. My bruised emotions are drowning in the excitement of the brewing storm.

As the first few raindrops kiss my forehead, I lift my camera and snap pictures of the clouds rolling in. The timpani of the thunder matches the beat of my heart. The little hairs on my arms begin to stand on end as the heart of the storm gets closer, closer, closer.

The raindrops grow fatter, dampening my hair, sliding down my neck. And still I snap as many photos as I can while shielding my camera from the oncoming deluge. The clouds reach their boiling point, wind howling all around me, and yet, for the first time all day, I feel calm.

When the bottom drops out, and the rain comes down in sheets, I retreat indoors to watch the storm from the window. Mother Nature is unrelenting, pounding the pavement in her midnight blue high heels, washing away the heat of the day with her summer storm. I sit and watch, enthralled, the chill from the air conditioning setting into my bones. The phone rings; I ignore it. And sink into the calm after the storm.