Wild Kingdom

Well, it's Friday afternoon on the first week of classes and looking back, I am proud to say that it went pretty well. Four successful CLOMs, a minimal three roommate change request came my way, I did talk to two "concerned" (and by that I mean clingy) mothers who had not spoken to their children in three hours and needed a little reassurance that their wee babes were probably off living their own lives and were fine, and only one woodland creature wandered into my hall despite every external door being propped open. Unfortunately, it happened to be a skunk.

Fear not, everyone is fine and no one tried to capture the skunk and keep it as a pet- this time around. However, this incident falls in a long line of encounters with wildlife in my residence halls. Of course you have your run-of-the-mill fish, hamster, hermit crab incidents, and even a puppy once in a while, but I once opened a room door during rounds and through the darkness I saw two red beady eyes reflecting in the light from the hallway. With a quick flip of the light switch, I saw it, a caiman swimming around in a kiddy pool in the middle of the room (I think this incident significantly contributed to my strong phobia of alligators/crocodiles). I have also encountered a family of raccoons that decided that my front porch would now be their living room and would try to attack me every time I would try to go into or out of my apartment. But the one that takes the cake involves a hot summer night and a flying rat.

After going to dinner with some of my friends, we decided to back to the hall and watch a movie in the lobby. After a while I excused myself to go put on my pajamas and started the long trek down the hallway to my room when something quickly buzzed past my head. Startled, I looked around only to see a bat making a u-turn in the middle of the hallway and was headed straight for me. I threw my arms over my head, bolted down the hallway, slammed the lobby door behind me. Safe. "There's a bat out there," my shaky voice eeked out as I pressed myself against the door (as if the bat could push it open so that it could come and get me).

Amanda looked at me with distain and pushed me out of the way to go investigate. Ten seconds later a piercing scream resonated from the hallway and she flashed back into the room. "There's a bat out there," she exclaimed. "I told you," clinging to her as if we were watching slasher flick. Merrell stood up, "This is a job for a man. I'll be back." He strolled down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to size up the competition. Amanda and I found a safe haven in the office, curled up on the desktop with our faces pressed up against the sliding glass ready to watch what was about to unfold. Merrell returned from his room with a pillow case and a hockey stick, gameface on.

Slowly he walked up to the bat, now perched on the neon light on the ceiling, and raised the hockey stick, ready to strike. The bat flapped his wings; Merrell kept it together while Amanda and I collectively cringed. He swung the stick, but the bat would have none of it and flew right passed his head. He screamed so high that only dogs could hear him and ran down the hallway to safety. This went on for twenty minutes; Amanda and I still engrossed in the action. Merrell eventually grew tired and sent for reinforcements. Aldon came out of his apartment with a baseball bat and a second pillowcase, ready to exterminate. The boys decided to turn off the lights so that the bat couldn't see them. I found this funny as bats are blind. In the darkness we heard frightened screams. Finally, Merrell and Aldon had the visitor cornered and were about to swoop it into the pillowcase when Aldon exclaimed, "It touched me, that's so gross, it touched me!" He shook his whole body in disgust and dropped the pillowcase releasing the creature.

Just then, Ashley, Aldon's six-months pregnant wife came hurriedly back from her walk as could hear her husband screaming from two blocks away. "What on earth is going on," she inquired. Amanda and I opened the glass window just wide enough to squeeze our faces through. "There's a bat," we said. "Oh, okay." Ashley went into her apartment and a few seconds later came out with a collapsed cardboard box. She looked at her husband cowering in corner, looked up at the bat, and then down at her husband. Without a word, Ashley raised the cardboard and slammed it against the bat. The only sound was a thud as the bat hit the ground, now struggling to fly away as he flapped his broken wings. She scooped up the bat and catapulted it out the front door to fend for itself in the wilds of the parking lot. "Gone." She went back into her home and closed the door. Merrell and Aldon still stood there in the corner shaking.