Spring time is my favorite time of year. Always has been. It could be because my birthday occurs in the spring, or it could be that, as dark as my soul is, I actually do enjoy sunlight.
Just as flowers begin to bloom, the geese return. They peck around their former territory, doing a little “spring cleaning,” making it a home again. And then they attack.
I’ve never been attacked by a goose, but I know a number of people have. I watched my tiny toy poodle try, ineffectively, to fight a goose. He didn’t go outside for a week.
Carrie is terrified of geese, although she’s terrified of anything with wings. Birds scare the shit out of her. While we knew better, we thought that if every child had been brought by a stork, then she had been brought by a pigeon or something equally lame and inept which had resulted in a deep-burning hatred of all things ornithological.
We also opined that if storks delivered babies, then there was one degenerate one named Stu the Scandal Stork who visited college campuses to terrify young women who didn’t practice safe sex.
Allow this to serve as a slight explanation for how the following story got so out of hand.
My friend Deepak hails from India. He’s been here for quite some time, so it’s really unnecessary for me to point that out, but I feel like it’s something that has to be said. So there’s that.
He’s an actuary. I know two actuaries, and both have tried to explain their jobs to me. I think I get it. But then again, there’s so much shit I think I get but really do not.
So imagine Deepak, who’s always finely dressed, strolling up to work. There’s a commotion. He scurries inside. Shortly thereafter, the rumor begins to circulate. A coworker was attacked. Viciously.
By a goose.
The office is in a frenzy now, although Deepak points out, calmly, that, “Guys, it’s just a fucking goose.”
Soon comes an e-mail from Human Resources. It reads as follows:
Due to geese problems at the north entrance of the building. Building management has advised that this entrance not be used by anyone until the aggressive goose is removed from that area. They are working to resolve this issue, but until they are able to get the goose away from the north entrance please use the West or South entrance to the building.
Let ***** or I know if you have any questions or concerns.
So here goes my imagination. There is a lone goose. He is “being aggressive,” outside the north side of the building. Immediately, Deepak and I begin to imagine this goose’s life, because he’s just as peculiar as I am.
We established that the goose in question was clearly drunk and harassing people outside of the office, because he had recently been terminated from his job in Accounts Payable. His name is Morty, and boy, is he pissed.
Their idea of trying to get the situation under control is to send two janitors out to cajole Morty off the premises. “We don’t want any trouble,” one would say as the other cautiously tried to grab the goose.
“BACK OFF MY FUCKING WING!” Morty would honk belligerently. “JUST BACK THE FUCK OFF!”
Deepak received an update at one point, informing the staff that they had brought in a specialized dog, which had been dubbed, “the goose hunter.” Original.
This strikes me as funny. Like this dog was born and bred to chase geese solely from corporate settings.
Post Office: Yes, we have a goose situation over her.
Goose Hunter: Oh sorry. He doesn’t do government buildings.
Deepak, on the other hand, envisioned a slightly different capture. In his head, he imagined a swat team of 16 men and 8 dogs coming by in a bullet proof van, wearing hard shell hats and dark sunglasses, holding barons and ak-47s, and they chase the goose away.
Then the swat team leaves. And the goose comes back within 10 minutes.
It’s pretty inspired.
I love these kinds of stories – the corporate freakout. I’ve worked in a corporate setting with all the gossip and the rumors and the general “holy-fucking-shittiness.” It’s like being trapped in a cubicle all day underneath oppressive fluorescent lighting slowly drains your brain of all sense of intelligence.
It was a fucking goose. Did HR need to be involved? Really? In my day, HR got involved if someone tried to bang you in the copy room, and that was a marginal involvement at best.
I don’t understand corporate fuckery anymore. I don’t speak that language. My current job hinges on the ability to be an adult and solve problems by yourself. Everyone here takes things in stride. That’s why I appreciate it so much.
But then again, I don’t have to face the terror that others do on a daily basis. Yes, I work arguably near a crack den, but there are no geese here.
And for that I’m thankful.
UPDATE: Deepak made it to his car without being assaulted by an aggressive goose, although I haven’t heard from him this morning, so I’m a hair bit nervous.
If you’re reading this, Deepak, GODSPEED.