Sunday, March 8, 2009
Slow Children at Play
Here's another Sylvan anecdote for those who enjoy them:
I arrived at work the other day to find the two owners (a married couple) in a big and raucous hoopla, over what, I was not sure. The wifey was squawking and flitting about worrying that her toddler of a husband had planted the lizard she found crawling on her purse strap in the actual purse. The husband was getting her all worked up by throwing pieces of balled up, lime-green post-it notes at her.
"What's going on?" I demanded. Note, there is NEVER this much excitement percolating when I come into work.
The wifey gave me the run down on the invading lizard who had set up camp in her office.
Feeling bold, I marched into her office to find the little guy (note, I really like lizards!). He was in between the wall and the side of her desk, with his eyes squinted. It was almost as if he hoped that if everyone else was coming in fuzzy for him, that we would have the courtesy to pass him over in the landscape as well.
Now, lizards are fast. And I don't like grabbing their bellies, cause they're soft and I don't want to squish anything important, as it would defeat the purpose of the rescue mission. So I made a rookie mistake and went for the tail, figuring that he'd be easier to catch and I wouldn't harm him in the process. I hoisted him in the air and he started thrashing every which way for about three seconds before he detached from his tail. The tail segment fell to the ground and continued its wiggle, and the lizard bolted to hide under some buttons and fliers underneath the wifey's desk.
I moved the propaganda out of the way and unearthed the now scared-shitless lizard. I knew I had no choice but to go for the abdomen. With my ninja-like reflexes, I caught him before he could dart off again, though I was careful to not squeeze him too hard.
He held his mouth open as wide as it would go and began turning all assortments of colors. I tried rubbing his head to calm him in his duress, but figured that was ridiculous so I just brought him to the door as quickly as possible.
I carefully and strategically dropped him in the "garden" onto some ground-cover, but he got confused and turned around since he couldn't stick the dismount on an even, flat surface. He headed straight back inside and the wifey started clapping and yelling, "Oh, no! Don't come back THIS way! Oh, he's a slow learner!"
And before I could stop my mouth, these words fell out, "Well, no wonder he's at Sylvan."
Immediately afterwards, I placed my hands over my mouth to prevent anything else just as horrible from spilling forth.
Needless to say no one, save my terrible, awful self, thought it was funny.