Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Turkey Day, Part Two


Last Friday, the office manager walked over to our department and said, "Turkeys are here. Go downstairs and bring your car keys."

It was raining and cold. My friend J and I got our coats and went outside where we were greeted by the sight of the company president and a vp and ... A pickup truck full of frozen turkeys. 

I goggled at it. Let's face it, I grew up in Maine. I've seen trucks full of stuff before. Manure, for example. My brain can accept a truck bed full of poop, apparently, but was freaked out by the vision that was fifty-plus big assed frozen turkeys. 

Mike, one of the truck-bound turkey tossers, apparently saw my awe (and mild fear) of the turkey. He handed it to me. "Happy Thanksgiving!" he said cheerfully.

"Thanks," I said, staggering slightly as I struggled to get a grip on twenty four pounds of slick, frozen bird.

I walked over to my car which, to be honest, didn't seem like the ideal place to store a frozen turkey. I mean, I don't generally keep perishables in my VW Rabbit for any length of time, and it was about 9:30 in the morning. I wouldn't be home until 5:00 ish. This whole thing seemed like a recipe for food poisoning.

I put the turkey down in the trunk. It seemed to speak to me. "I am frozen SOLID," said the turkey. "I don't think you need to worry about me. Go back to work. I'll still be here, all frozen, when you get home."

So I did.

And it was.


My apartment is kind of ... well, underground. Not in a "I'm so freaking hip" way, but more, um, literally. It's subterranean ish. My parking space, however, is up a hill.

I may have mentioned before that I am clumsy. Because I am. So there I was, in the dark, wrestling with twenty four pounds of rock solid bird, walking down hill.

Not awesome.

Less awesome was trying to unlock the door and not drop the turkey on my feet. I could just imagine explaining that at the ER. "How did you break your foot?"

"Rogue turkey."


Lizzie B is one of those cats that is STUPIDLY happy when her person comes home. Unfortunately for both of us, she displays her joy by being underfoot.

On a good day this is challenging.

On a day when your view of the ground is obscured by a shrink wrapped bird?

Yeah. I stepped on her.

She squawked in a "OHMYGAWDNOYOUDIDNT" way that only a cat can pull off. I immediately felt like a jerk, even though it was an accident. I dropped TurkeyZilla on the floor and scooped her up. After carting around the frozen bird, my hands were numb. Also, Lizzie only weighs six pounds.

I may have nearly flung her over my shoulder.

But I didn't.

She, of course, was happy to be in my arms and was not injured in any way. She purred and stretched and was her normal, hyper-cute self.

I put her back down.

She looked at the turkey.

She hissed at it.

In that moment, she was speaking for both of us. I sighed and put it in the fridge, fully expecting that it would never thaw.

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