I work at a residential treatment facility for boys, which happens to be in the middle of the Wayne National Forest. I am thrust into nature every day. I expect to see everything from frogs to turtles to crawdads to snakes, just walking from one building to another. Heck, one time, we even rescued a baby deer. We all took turns taking selfies with it, before someone came and hauled it away. I got a call once, from a very despondent nurse saying there were baby snakes under the med cart. I think I knocked a co-worker down the stairs so I could get there first to see them. Furthermore, I will stop mid-keystroke if a kid asks me to go to the creek to hunt for crawdads. I love living amongst nature; until nature decides to live amongst me and my desk and my office.
I seldom eat a real lunch. I mainly exist on Reese cups, Cool Ranch Doritos, gummy bears and Coke. Its a more enjoyable lunch that way. One day, I had reached for an unopened Reese cup and realized it had already been opened. It looked as if someone had taken a weed whip and hacked a whole corner off. The orange and white wrapper shavings fell like snow when I lifted it out of my desk drawer. I threw it away, thinking I must have jostled the poor candy around in my drawer too much. A few days later came an email from my co-worker in the next office over. It read:
I immediately ripped my heavy doorstopper from the floor and placed it over Mr. Jingles' gateway. That should stop him, I thought.
I carry a large computer bag to and from work most days. It has everything in it, charging cords, earrings, loose change, Milk Duds, a twelve months of the Pope calendar...everything. I should not have been surprised when I picked up a bag of Runts candy in the console of my car and the candies fell out of the bottom like coins from a slot; dinging onto the gearshift, seatbelt buckle, and floor mats . In the corner of the bag, it looked as if someone had given them to a baby who was teething.
Mr. Jingles was living in my car. I must have carried him in my office bag and now he is loose and living in my car.
I tried sticky traps, spring-loaded traps, nothing would catch that mouse. If we had a carpool lane in my town, I would get in it because Mr. Jingles was always along for the ride.
It got to be ridiculous. I vacuumed the car, scrubbed it, and sprayed air freshener under the seats (hoping to hit Mr. Jingles right in the beady eyes while he lay in wait under the seat adjusters). A long time passed and I thought we were rid of Mr. Jingles. I purposefully left opened snacks in the car to see if he was still perusing my car's interior at night. It remained untouched. He's gone.
My daughter's cheerleading team did a pasta fundraiser. You could order pasta in the shape of your favorite team, the Star of David or even a flamingo. My co-worker, Elizabeth, decided that she would order the Peace and Love pasta for her daughter. I picked the order up, placed it in my car and drove to work. At the end of the day, I opened my hatch and saw bits of enriched macaroni in the shape of doves and peace signs strewn about my car. I ran into the building to get the Maintenance Supervisor and ask him for some napalm. He walked back to my car with me and was in awe as I showed him the gaping hole in the corner of the pasta bag. "Why is it still in my car, Tommy? Why can't I get rid of it?" He paused for a moment, then picked up a book my daughter had been reading for Accelerated Reader points. With a straight face, he said "Do you think this book has anything to do with it?"
I seldom eat a real lunch. I mainly exist on Reese cups, Cool Ranch Doritos, gummy bears and Coke. Its a more enjoyable lunch that way. One day, I had reached for an unopened Reese cup and realized it had already been opened. It looked as if someone had taken a weed whip and hacked a whole corner off. The orange and white wrapper shavings fell like snow when I lifted it out of my desk drawer. I threw it away, thinking I must have jostled the poor candy around in my drawer too much. A few days later came an email from my co-worker in the next office over. It read:
I was not happy to learn that Mr. Jingles liked to frequent my desk drawer as well. I told my co-worker to keep Mr. Jingles on his side of the building. Then he stated "Oh no. He just comes to my office. He lives in yours". Then he lifted a gnawed plastic Ethernet port up out of my floor. "See, he comes in through this hole. We've been feeding him chips."I have a mouse living in my desk drawer. If you see him, his name is Mr. Jingles. He is a circus mouse and when I get out of here, he's gonna make me rich.
I immediately ripped my heavy doorstopper from the floor and placed it over Mr. Jingles' gateway. That should stop him, I thought.
I carry a large computer bag to and from work most days. It has everything in it, charging cords, earrings, loose change, Milk Duds, a twelve months of the Pope calendar...everything. I should not have been surprised when I picked up a bag of Runts candy in the console of my car and the candies fell out of the bottom like coins from a slot; dinging onto the gearshift, seatbelt buckle, and floor mats . In the corner of the bag, it looked as if someone had given them to a baby who was teething.
Mr. Jingles was living in my car. I must have carried him in my office bag and now he is loose and living in my car.
I tried sticky traps, spring-loaded traps, nothing would catch that mouse. If we had a carpool lane in my town, I would get in it because Mr. Jingles was always along for the ride.
It got to be ridiculous. I vacuumed the car, scrubbed it, and sprayed air freshener under the seats (hoping to hit Mr. Jingles right in the beady eyes while he lay in wait under the seat adjusters). A long time passed and I thought we were rid of Mr. Jingles. I purposefully left opened snacks in the car to see if he was still perusing my car's interior at night. It remained untouched. He's gone.
My daughter's cheerleading team did a pasta fundraiser. You could order pasta in the shape of your favorite team, the Star of David or even a flamingo. My co-worker, Elizabeth, decided that she would order the Peace and Love pasta for her daughter. I picked the order up, placed it in my car and drove to work. At the end of the day, I opened my hatch and saw bits of enriched macaroni in the shape of doves and peace signs strewn about my car. I ran into the building to get the Maintenance Supervisor and ask him for some napalm. He walked back to my car with me and was in awe as I showed him the gaping hole in the corner of the pasta bag. "Why is it still in my car, Tommy? Why can't I get rid of it?" He paused for a moment, then picked up a book my daughter had been reading for Accelerated Reader points. With a straight face, he said "Do you think this book has anything to do with it?"
You are my mouse, Mr. Jingles. My mouse.
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