Do you ever see things? I do. I’m forever seeing things out of the corner of my eye. Things that may or may not actually be there.
So when I saw a light brown streak on the floor of my office yesterday, it was hardly out of the ordinary. Something made me look closer, who knows what. I craned my neck a little, looked under the shadow of the desk and there it was, in a small access port in the floor. The little brown body. And a tail. Scurrying down into the floor.
In one motion, from looking, to realizing, to the deep inhale, I was flying in my rolling chair. Back from the desk, across the cube, into the small hallway. The sound I made, when I saw the creature, must have been abrupt. It was the audible gasp, like the one your mother used to do when you were new to driving and she sat in the passenger seat, utterly shocked there wasn’t a break pedal on that side, too. Four coworkers immediately appeared in my doorway.
I should back up a little here to say I’m not scared of mice. Scared is a relative term. I am not afraid of them eating my toes off, or crawling near me. It’s not scary. What it is, though, is disgusting. I am disgusted by them, just like spiders. They give me the creeps, like shivery creeps. Like dirty old man flirting with you in a bar creeps.
When I saw this mouse, fear didn’t go through my mind. Rather, the thought of having to share space with this critter, clearly out of it’s element, grossed me the heck out.
Upon some inspection, figuring out yes, the mouse went into the hole but probably had the option of coming out anywhere, we fashioned a blocking device (and by we I mean another coworker because at this point, I am still ten feet away). I wish I had a photo for you, but honestly, convincing my coworkers I’ve not lost my mind is difficult enough on a daily basis without setting up a mouse surveillance camera. It’s an empty Tupperware container, clear plastic so I can see if he comes out, with about seven binders stacked on top. You never know.
And now, I sit at my desk, do my work, talk to people on the phone and act like everything is normal. It’s not easy though, because about every 4.3 seconds I have to gaze over to that spot on the floor and keep my mind from picturing a mouse crawling out to get me. Once he moves seventeen pounds of office supplies.
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