Of Mice and Women
Friday, February 24, 2006
Since I seem to be mouse-obsessed (my, it is a good thing I wasn’t blogging at our last apartment because I would have had to make this a strictly-mouse-related blog I think), I thought I would share with you one of the most disturbing mouse stories I’ve ever heard. I’m sure there are worse. This story just makes me laugh hysterically while making each and every hair on my body stand on end, and for that, I love it. Plus, it didn't happen to me.
My friend K lived in an apartment above a pizza place for a year with three friends, and in that year they had THIRTEEN mice that they know of. Well, thirteen separate mice incidents that resulted in a dead mouse carcass. They called them all “Mr. Bojangles X”. So by the end, she would call me and be like, “Hey, so, yeah, Mr. Bojangles 13 is making me insane, can I come stay with you tonight?” And I, being the wonderful friend I am, said yes every time.
After that year, K and her roommates all moved—K moved in with another friend, and the other three stuck together. They had this great new apartment that was not above a pizza place, making them think their problems were over.
Well, they weren’t. They had a few mice sightings here and there, but they dealt with it, and all was fine. Annoying? Yes. But after having THIRTEEN the year before, the 3 they had in their first year at the new place seemed acceptable. But still, these three have done their mice time, so to speak. They’ve paid their dues. So they hire an exterminator, and, finally, the mice seem to be gone for good.
Fast forward to last summer. They all went to a game at Yankee Stadium with other friends to celebrate A’s birthday (one of K’s former roommates). It was a little chilly—I think this was early on in the season and summer wasn’t yet in full swing. So they all had coats with them. They get to the stadium, they get some beer, they get settled. For some reason involving a ticket mishap, they had been seated near a handicapped section and were right next to a security guard.
A, whose birthday, I believe, it was, got a little chilled. So she put on her coat, which she hadn’t worn in a good long while and which had been hanging on a coat tree in the apartment in the meantime. She puts on one sleeve, and then reaches into the other sleeve, feels something there, and pulls out a dead and decaying mouse.
A screams and throws it down, and of course the six other girls in the group freak. Beer goes flying, there’s a major commotion, everyone is just hysterical and scrambling to get away from the carcass. The security guard sees what’s happening, comes over, notices the dead mouse, and kicks it out of the way. But there was no mass to it—it’s decayed, right? Plus, in case you weren’t aware, mice don’t have backbones—so every time he kicks it, it kind of flutters up and then the breeze catches it and blows it towards the girls, who scream and shuffle away as best they can en masse. And then the security guard kicks it again, they scream, they shuffle. Kick, scream, shuffle. This is all happening really quickly, and K says the guard kicked it like 6 or 7 times. If I had been there, I think I would have, by this point, run screaming from the stadium, hailed a cab, and been halfway home.
So, finally the guard picks up the mouse and throws it away. The girls calm down, are now giggling, all is fine.
And then some jack*ss behind them, who is dipping, spits on A.
I’m pretty sure that went down as her best birthday ever, aren’t you?
My friend K lived in an apartment above a pizza place for a year with three friends, and in that year they had THIRTEEN mice that they know of. Well, thirteen separate mice incidents that resulted in a dead mouse carcass. They called them all “Mr. Bojangles X”. So by the end, she would call me and be like, “Hey, so, yeah, Mr. Bojangles 13 is making me insane, can I come stay with you tonight?” And I, being the wonderful friend I am, said yes every time.
After that year, K and her roommates all moved—K moved in with another friend, and the other three stuck together. They had this great new apartment that was not above a pizza place, making them think their problems were over.
Well, they weren’t. They had a few mice sightings here and there, but they dealt with it, and all was fine. Annoying? Yes. But after having THIRTEEN the year before, the 3 they had in their first year at the new place seemed acceptable. But still, these three have done their mice time, so to speak. They’ve paid their dues. So they hire an exterminator, and, finally, the mice seem to be gone for good.
Fast forward to last summer. They all went to a game at Yankee Stadium with other friends to celebrate A’s birthday (one of K’s former roommates). It was a little chilly—I think this was early on in the season and summer wasn’t yet in full swing. So they all had coats with them. They get to the stadium, they get some beer, they get settled. For some reason involving a ticket mishap, they had been seated near a handicapped section and were right next to a security guard.
A, whose birthday, I believe, it was, got a little chilled. So she put on her coat, which she hadn’t worn in a good long while and which had been hanging on a coat tree in the apartment in the meantime. She puts on one sleeve, and then reaches into the other sleeve, feels something there, and pulls out a dead and decaying mouse.
A screams and throws it down, and of course the six other girls in the group freak. Beer goes flying, there’s a major commotion, everyone is just hysterical and scrambling to get away from the carcass. The security guard sees what’s happening, comes over, notices the dead mouse, and kicks it out of the way. But there was no mass to it—it’s decayed, right? Plus, in case you weren’t aware, mice don’t have backbones—so every time he kicks it, it kind of flutters up and then the breeze catches it and blows it towards the girls, who scream and shuffle away as best they can en masse. And then the security guard kicks it again, they scream, they shuffle. Kick, scream, shuffle. This is all happening really quickly, and K says the guard kicked it like 6 or 7 times. If I had been there, I think I would have, by this point, run screaming from the stadium, hailed a cab, and been halfway home.
So, finally the guard picks up the mouse and throws it away. The girls calm down, are now giggling, all is fine.
And then some jack*ss behind them, who is dipping, spits on A.
I’m pretty sure that went down as her best birthday ever, aren’t you?
This entry was posted
on Friday, February 24, 2006 at 4:28 PM.
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