There’s a scary story involving an alligator coming up, but first:
On Thursday, I come home after a very long, exhausting day of field work to discover a pissy email from one of my coworkers. I quickly realize that there’s a misunderstanding involved and fire off an email that is just as pissy, but more directed towards another coworker, someone who is spreading false rumors. The whole thing got me in a bad mood and after eating a McMeal, I showered and got in bed.
I’m in bed for maybe twenty minutes, unable to sleep because of my foul mood, when the phone rings. I look at the caller ID and lo and behold, it’s the coworker who sent me the email.
“Hello?”
I hear noises against a backdrop of jazz music. As I listen more intently, I hear my coworker’s voice talking to someone else (someone who knows me). He’s talking about the nutcases in his class and the two of them are laughing. Meanwhile, I’m patiently waiting for my coworker to talk to me since, ya know, HE CALLED ME. Then, as they continue to chatter, I realize that he must have accidently pressed a button on his phone and dialed my number. I start screaming his name so that perhaps he will hear and hang up the phone. But he can’t hear me (I later found out that his phone was in his pocket).
When I hang up my phone (which is a landline) and then turn it back on, I can still hear them! It’s like my phone can’t even go off the hook.
I debate forgetting about it and going to bed. I’m tired and have to wake up early the next morning. Plus, I know it’s rude to eavesdrop. But then I wonder about the ramifications of leaving a cellphone “off the hook” like that. Will the batteries run down? What about all the wasted minutes? I feel like I need to let him know that he’s “on the air”, so to speak. We’re friends, after all.
I try to call him on my cellphone, to no avail. Then I try to scream his name again, to no avail. Finally, I tell myself I’m going to hang up and forget about it. But the devil on my shoulder won’t let me. I put the phone to my ear and listen in some more.
Coworker:…“I sent monstro a nasty email today. It wasn’t really nasty but it was stern and she’s going to be mad at me.”
Other person: “Really? Why?”
Coworker: “I found out that she’s [false rumor that, if true, would have disrupted a whole bunch of his plans]. And I can’t believe she would do that without communicating to me first. I had to let her know that her communication skills SUCK BIG TIME.”
That’s when I start screaming his name again, hoping beyond hope that he can at least hear me on a subconscious level. But I’m really angry now.
The conversation continues about other things and I finally put the phone down. I head back to bed, fuming, but then I decide to call him again–to yell at him. When I pick up my phone, I find that it has really “hung up” this time. I call his cellphone and decide to leave a message informing him I was privy to his conversation and that I didn’t really appreciate it. But just when I get to his voicemail, he picks up.
I tell him about his errant phone and the fact that I had just heard “everything”. We laugh although he’s obviously embarrassed and I assure him I’m not mad (even though I am). I tell him my side of the story and about how false the rumor is, and we end up talking for almost two hours. It all ends well.
Surreal moment number 2:
So, my primary mode of transportation during the workday is a helicopter. I work out in the Everglades and none of my sites are accessible by car (and airboat isn’t practical). So a helicopter picks me and a coworker up and takes us to where I tell the pilot to go. I have been to none of the places we go to (they change every day) so I have no idea what (or who) may be waiting for us when we land.
Right before the pilot–a newbie to the Everglades–starts up the helicopter, he asks me if I’ve ever encountered alligators. I tell him that I’ve seen a-plenty, but they don’t usually come close because they’re afraid. Most times they just mind their business and I mind mine. He points out an alligator in a nearby canal and I tell him that the whole area where we are working is teeming with them. His eyes get big and he asks if ever I’m afraid. No, I tell him.
We get to our first site and, as usual, I jump out of the helicopter and help my assistant unload. Then, together we walk to the other side and unstrap a big trap we have attached to the side of the helicopter. As we are doing this, the pilot turns his face to us and shouts, over the roar of the propeller: THERE’S A 14 FOOT ALLIGATOR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HELICOPTER!
I smile, thinking he’s spotted a little alligator far away. How cute. But my assistant walks over to the other side to check it out and quickly makes his way back to me.
“WE HAVE TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW!!!” he shouts. I know now we are officially in “this is no joke” territory.
We’re in a dilemma for a second or so because the alligator (which I still haven’t seen) is on the same side as the doors to the helicopter. There’s another door on the other side, but it’s blocked by our mighty fish trap. So we walk away from the helicopter and the pilot lifts up, hovers over to us, then sets down so that we can get in. I got a glance of Mr. Gator* lunging out of the water when the helicopter raised up so I’m now scared shitless. I mean, I actually scream from sheer terror. The question running through my mind is: Why isn’t Mr. Gator scared? Surely a helicopter, especially one with blinking lights and a running propellor isn’t something he sees every day. And where are his friends? Are they nearby too?
We get in hastily and then all three of us are transfixed by the monster in front of us. He isn’t 14 foot (those are a rarity), but he’s certainly a killer-sized one. Easily six, seven feet. And those eyes. They were like Godzilla eyes–yellow, non blinking, non feeling, but angry nonetheless. Eyes that say “Don’t fucking play with me.” They were stuck on all of us equally, but I felt they were focused more on me, the one directing the whole shebang. To believe I had cluelessly jumped into water with that thing just a few feet away (if that!) makes me quiver inside. I could have landed on that thing’s head! AHHH!
As we lifted out of the water (we weren’t working at that particular site, no way), Mr. Gator said goodbye to us by lunging once again at the helicopter, open mouth and all. We screamed like little girls and then broke out into hysterical laughter once it was clear we were safe. “Oh shit!” we cried in unison.
Damn, that was some scary shit. The pilot couldn’t believe what had just happened and neither could I. I thanked him profusely at the end of the day because the guy SAVED OUR FREAKING LIVES. If his attention had been elsewhere, he might not have seen the gator (Lord knows I didn’t and I was in the water with it!). He could have left us there and then returned to find us missing limbs and/or life.
People ask how I summon the energy to go out into the field day after day (I’ve been out for two months straight) and I never know what to tell them. Now I do. It’s the excitement, baby. The memory of yesterday will stay with me forever.
*The gator could have been a female, but it’s not nesting season, when you would expect them to be aggressive. Males, on the other hand, are territorial and are always on guard for intruders. So that’s why I’m call him a “mister”.