I'm a fighter, not a lover.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Be very, very quiet...


Me: iPod blasting particularly loud to cover up the sound of the industrial-strength vacuum sucking away at the car wash. Working hard -- $3 in quarters hard, sweating from vacuuming hard -- to get rid of the evidence that two blonde, shedding dogs had made the xA their bitch the night before.

Her: Wiping down her Pontiac two vacuum stations away, quietly minding her business.

Until I look up and notice her right upon me, lips moving fast and not at all in time with the lyrics of The National’s “Mr. November,” which currently reigned my hearing.

She had a look of concern on her face, which startled me a bit, so I pulled the buds away to listen. I may as well have kept them in.

Pontiac lady: Sir, can you catch that?
Me: What?
PL: The bunny. Can you catch it?
Me: Sorry? What?
PL: Please catch it.

Mind you, we are at a car wash. The woman begins pointing at what I assume is an imaginary bunny. The conversation goes on as aforementioned, at least three more repetitions like that, while she continues to point at the completely rabbit-free pavement. I survey the scene (thanks wilderness first aid training!). I contemplate leaving my floor mats behind, but as everything else I had in the car is also wildly dispersed, a quick get-a-way is impossible.

Wondering what to do next, a rabbit sticks its head up and under the fence. I couldn’t believe it.

PL: See? Now can you catch it?
Me: Is it yours?
PL: No, but it must belong to somebody. It’s a bunny!

I look back down at this pathetic rabbit. The animal was less a bunny than I am. It didn’t even hop; it sort of walked in a swagger -- a piece of body language that said, “Try and catch me, esse, and I’ll cut you. I’ll cut you, fool.” Plus, it was filthy. Its coat a sort of brown-grey, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was originally white.

As I do my best to avoid rabid animals on the weekend, I tried to convince the woman that this rabbit was not a pet, and if provoked, could very well demand that we become its pet. She still seemed to disagree. Finally, I told her that I was not touching it, but if she’d like to “catch” it, I could have the paramedics standing by.

She turned back toward her car. I may have ruined her day.


Blogger Dave Amirault said...

Atta boy DMO. Give that bizatch a taste of the ol' Boston charm.

2:51 PM

Blogger Sara Z. said...

You just don't know a pick up when you see one. "Can you catch that rabbit" indeed.

3:27 PM


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