Grand Canyon
Dead animal love
23 December 2011
07 December 2011
Journey of a Spitball
So it's that season again. I know... I know... you think I mean Christmas season. Well it's that, too, but what I'm talking about today, is the season where warm turns to cold, and all the little virus bugs are happy and nestling snug in our lungs. The season of sickness may well determine the timing of your or my experience with these bugs, but somehow, everywhere, there are evidences of residences in the strangers around us. What are these evidences, you don't ask? Well, I'll tell you. All around, like little snowflakes on the ground - since the snow would never dare come to the land of the sauna, we must think on what nature has provided as a substitute - we can find freshly hocked loogies, ready to redirect even the most resolute of pedestrians.
This little story is about a particular spitball close to home: mine. Now I know you don't want to hear this, but if you'll keep reading, I'll tell you anyway. I was walking ever so innocently on the walkway to my office, hand clutching the token Coke Zero as the afternoon sleepies require, and all of a sudden, from somewhere inside me, I feel the betrayal of nature. Despite my attempt at maintaining decorum, by finding a nice bathroom to do the deed, I'm unable to contain that particular spitball, and the frantic search for a slightly acceptable resting place commenced. Oddly enough, the trash can is frowned upon, since many of the local population prefers to line their pockets with the proceeds of slightly recyclable discarded items in these cans, so posted signs and fines intending to protect this form of commercialism discourage option number one. I continue, unfulfilled, until I see the beautiful large foliage ahead. I know from my studies, that the bacteria from human spit aids in plant germination, so I started to quicken my step, almost excited to find such a perfect, harmonious solution. After waiting for the passersby to pass by, I grab the railing, and, rather than hurling myself over - which another posted sign informs us is not a good choice - I release my prisoner. I watch proudly, as I know in my heart, I've done the right thing.
As I watch my life-giving gift's journey on it's way down from the 3rd floor of my office's outdoor walkway, something horrible happens. Nature has betrayed itself! Why dost thou protest this offering?! A small, ever-so-innocent gust of wind has come to carry my little spitball but 6 inches away from the intended and warmly welcoming plant, and I watch in horror as my little spitball lands ironically on the ground below, thus sealing my fate with karma. I have become one of those hocking strangers. A horrible guilty feeling comes over me, and I know, for the benefit of society, I must share my story. Why, you ask incredulously? Because I think some of you, secretly, wanted to know.
This little story is about a particular spitball close to home: mine. Now I know you don't want to hear this, but if you'll keep reading, I'll tell you anyway. I was walking ever so innocently on the walkway to my office, hand clutching the token Coke Zero as the afternoon sleepies require, and all of a sudden, from somewhere inside me, I feel the betrayal of nature. Despite my attempt at maintaining decorum, by finding a nice bathroom to do the deed, I'm unable to contain that particular spitball, and the frantic search for a slightly acceptable resting place commenced. Oddly enough, the trash can is frowned upon, since many of the local population prefers to line their pockets with the proceeds of slightly recyclable discarded items in these cans, so posted signs and fines intending to protect this form of commercialism discourage option number one. I continue, unfulfilled, until I see the beautiful large foliage ahead. I know from my studies, that the bacteria from human spit aids in plant germination, so I started to quicken my step, almost excited to find such a perfect, harmonious solution. After waiting for the passersby to pass by, I grab the railing, and, rather than hurling myself over - which another posted sign informs us is not a good choice - I release my prisoner. I watch proudly, as I know in my heart, I've done the right thing.
As I watch my life-giving gift's journey on it's way down from the 3rd floor of my office's outdoor walkway, something horrible happens. Nature has betrayed itself! Why dost thou protest this offering?! A small, ever-so-innocent gust of wind has come to carry my little spitball but 6 inches away from the intended and warmly welcoming plant, and I watch in horror as my little spitball lands ironically on the ground below, thus sealing my fate with karma. I have become one of those hocking strangers. A horrible guilty feeling comes over me, and I know, for the benefit of society, I must share my story. Why, you ask incredulously? Because I think some of you, secretly, wanted to know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)