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So, how was your day?
Dec. 10th, 2005 04:04 pmI got attacked by a sheep.
Seriously. Let me tell the tale of the epic battle between PODS driver and pissed of sweater factory.
I was picking up a pod in rural Gilroy (side note: I had four jobs today, one delivery and three loaded returns to the warehouse, and not one of them could be done in the normal manner of backing the truck up to the space. Every time I had to walk Podzilla off the truck, swing around, yadda, yadda, yadda..) and once I had actually found the address, and negotiated the extremely tight space between hedge and building with my big frickking truck, I was in a space where I could do my job in what I assumed would be a timely fashion.
Fat chance. As I was lining the lift up with the pod, something hits my leg. Hard. I look down to see a sheep. As if to say "Yea, that was me" he butts my leg again.
I briefly contemplated doing my best matador impersonation should the sheep attempt another attack. This would have left my assailant lunging straight into one of the lift legs, and I was amused at the thought of an aggressive sheep meeting close to two tons of metal, but the expected attack did not come. It seems we had reached something of a stand off.
The sheep and I stared at each other as a deathly still came over the farmyard (well, with the exception of Podzilla's engine, which was merrily roaring away) Time seemed to stop as we stared deep into each others' eyes. Had this been a Kurosawa film, there would have the slow loosening of katanas in their scabbards. In a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, Lee Marvin would long since killed us to a haunting, wailing soundtrack. As it was, we had to do with the rooster who crowed ever few seconds as the three neurons in its skull kept coming up with "Holy Shit! I'm a rooster!"
The tableau might have lasted for hours, but who cares? I was getting paid. But something had to give. "What would Sun Tzu do in this situation?" I thought, realizing that the first thing he would do is run screaming from Podzilla. I decided to use my opponent's weaknesses to my advantage. This was a country sheep, and had probably heard a great deal about inner-city gangs on Fox News (what else do sheep watch?) So I went "street" on the sheep.
"Yo, I got your momma hanging in my closet. Now I'm looking for mittens."
With a withering glance, the sheep conceded our battle of wills and backed down. Flush with victory, I loaded the pod. As I was strapping the pod down, I noticed a number of sheep gathered on the other side of the fence. No rams. Had I stumbled on a colony of lesbian sheep? Some sort of wild and woolly den of four-legged depravity? Perhaps the sheep that attacked me was the bull (ram?) dyke of the group; taking matters firmly in, err, hand as the others planned some sort of political action, possibly a dye-in, to protest my noisy intrusion. But whatever, because as I left, I saw something in the eyes of the assembled politically active lesbian sheep.
Respect.
Seriously. Let me tell the tale of the epic battle between PODS driver and pissed of sweater factory.
I was picking up a pod in rural Gilroy (side note: I had four jobs today, one delivery and three loaded returns to the warehouse, and not one of them could be done in the normal manner of backing the truck up to the space. Every time I had to walk Podzilla off the truck, swing around, yadda, yadda, yadda..) and once I had actually found the address, and negotiated the extremely tight space between hedge and building with my big frickking truck, I was in a space where I could do my job in what I assumed would be a timely fashion.
Fat chance. As I was lining the lift up with the pod, something hits my leg. Hard. I look down to see a sheep. As if to say "Yea, that was me" he butts my leg again.
I briefly contemplated doing my best matador impersonation should the sheep attempt another attack. This would have left my assailant lunging straight into one of the lift legs, and I was amused at the thought of an aggressive sheep meeting close to two tons of metal, but the expected attack did not come. It seems we had reached something of a stand off.
The sheep and I stared at each other as a deathly still came over the farmyard (well, with the exception of Podzilla's engine, which was merrily roaring away) Time seemed to stop as we stared deep into each others' eyes. Had this been a Kurosawa film, there would have the slow loosening of katanas in their scabbards. In a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, Lee Marvin would long since killed us to a haunting, wailing soundtrack. As it was, we had to do with the rooster who crowed ever few seconds as the three neurons in its skull kept coming up with "Holy Shit! I'm a rooster!"
The tableau might have lasted for hours, but who cares? I was getting paid. But something had to give. "What would Sun Tzu do in this situation?" I thought, realizing that the first thing he would do is run screaming from Podzilla. I decided to use my opponent's weaknesses to my advantage. This was a country sheep, and had probably heard a great deal about inner-city gangs on Fox News (what else do sheep watch?) So I went "street" on the sheep.
"Yo, I got your momma hanging in my closet. Now I'm looking for mittens."
With a withering glance, the sheep conceded our battle of wills and backed down. Flush with victory, I loaded the pod. As I was strapping the pod down, I noticed a number of sheep gathered on the other side of the fence. No rams. Had I stumbled on a colony of lesbian sheep? Some sort of wild and woolly den of four-legged depravity? Perhaps the sheep that attacked me was the bull (ram?) dyke of the group; taking matters firmly in, err, hand as the others planned some sort of political action, possibly a dye-in, to protest my noisy intrusion. But whatever, because as I left, I saw something in the eyes of the assembled politically active lesbian sheep.
Respect.
