A mouse drenched in oil

It's the sound of metal rubbing on metal. Or maybe a frustrated teacher impatiently rephrasing new notes onto a blackboard. It could be the heater kicking on on this frigid day. Oh, it's a mouse stuck in a trap.

A mouse was struggling to free itself from one of the office glue traps. It's whole left back was stretched and flat against the side of this newfound shelter. Like a furry little carny, taking a ride on the Round Up, having the centrifugal force smushing him against the wall.

I sympathized for the two beady eyes that stared back at me. Frightened but ready to fight, his paws stood firm. Although that may have been the industrial grade glue forcing him to maintain such poise in the face of an intimidating human. His fierceness was lessened by his left cheek being stretched and attached to the wall. Was this one of nature's scare tactics? The hissing of a snake, the bright colors of a poisonous tree frog, the dilophosaurus ready to spit in my face? His face was just glued to the wall.

I bought a small 16 oz. bottle of Red & White Premium Quality vegetable oil at the corner bodega. I brought the mouse outside and sat on the curb with the mouse problem in front of me. He started freaking the fuck out when I poured vegetable oil on him. I gently rubbed and he tried to bite me, his teeth grabbing only the latex gloves I had put on. The oil worked itself in and he was saved from a slow death. He quickly sprinted straight across the street. I was afraid he might get smushed by a car. I discarded the gloves and now useless mouse trap.

You have a little something on your face

Recognition and acknowledgement are pretty cool things. Being rewarded for the time and effort you put into a project creates one of the few sensations that pass under the radar, yet continues to fly (Was that corny? Did it make sense?).

A co-worker of mine was recently snacking on puffed rice. As she stuffed her stupid mouth, she was commenting on how her diet was keeping her from eating the foods she loves. Health concerns are the primary reason and I could sympathize. I was trying to do my work and she was keeping me from it. A puffed rice piece managed to sneak its way onto the corner of her mouth, hanging solely by a film of spit and near-weightlessness. Her nerves didn't fire and I enjoyed the few minutes of platitudes, now made interesting by the homely source; a face slightly stained by a lost grain. Shady as fuck? Maybe.

I took pleasure in this tableau. The feeling of coming into work or school in an outfit you were unsure of a few hours ago, confronted by a mirror that won't let you be content. That's her. If she knew about the rice.

She rubbed it off when I wasn't looking. But at the corner of my eye I saw her do it.

[I'm so fucking despicable.]

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