What's good for one...
When I took a temporary job proofreading a book for the American Institute of Physics, I imagined that I would have many conversations along these lines:
Curt: So, I got this one-week gig proofreading a book for the American Institute of Physics.
Friend: Wow! That's so cool! You must be really smart.
Curt: No, no. I'm still just a regular guy who happens to know a little something about grammar, punctuation, style, and acoustical and optical phonon dispersion.
Friend: Your job is too cool, but you're even cooler. I can't believe how fortunate I am to have such an amazing friend.
Curt: Oh, stop.
In reality, the conversations have gone more like this:
Curt: So, I got this one-week gig proofreading a book for the American Institute of Physics.
Friend: Welcome to Snoresville, dude. Population: You. What'd you do to get sentenced to that?
I thought I'd get a little more geek cred with this job, but I guess not.
I showed up for my first day this morning and was welcomed by a goose. I steer clear of geese whenever I can. They are vicious creatures who when provoked can peck a bear to death and wield their wings like a pair of baseball bats, or so I've heard. This goose was standing to the left of some steps I needed to descend, so I passed him as far to the right as I could. He paid no attention, which was fine with me.
At lunchtime, I went out to my car to get some change for a coke. I had my head down as I walked down the steps, so I didn't notice goose until I was barely three feet away from him—close enough so that he could fracture my right kneecap with the flick of an appendage. I kept walking purposefully, but he had me in his sights. He stared viciously, then thrust his head forward like a snake and hissed. I did not know until then that a bird was capable of hissing. It scared me a little, but I kept walking and he left me alone. A man who was loitering outside the building chuckled and said, "You walked past his nest."
I turned around and saw that, sure enough, in the bed of greenery that bordered the steps sat another goose, presumably on some eggs. A mental image formed in my mind of the two geese searching for a good nesting location. The gander sees this tidy little spot and says, "There's the place. That's where we make our nest." The female replies gently, "Honey, it's kind of far from the water, don't you think? And all that concrete surrounding it might mean that humans will be around after the weekend is over. Why don't we try to find something a little closer to the beach?" The gander insists, "No, no. This is the spot. The bushes and the trees are pretty. The ocean's just a couple of miles away. If any snakes come hunting eggs, we'll see them slithering long before they get close enough to do anything. And there aren't any people around. Don't you worry your pretty little head. I've got it all taken care of." So the female respects her mate and—against every instinct she has—lays her eggs in that place.
And two days later the stupid gander is hissing at me. It made me mad. I really wanted to give that goose a piece of my mind. I wanted to say, "You're the one who put that nest in the worst possible place. You're the one who's humiliating your wife"—it was obvious the poor thing was mortified to be incubating her eggs in full view of the entire world—"And now here you come pooping all over my sidewalk and you have the unmitigated gall to hiss at me? For shame."
Then it occurred to me that he's an expectant father, which I've heard can make guys a little insane. So I cut him some slack and just left him alone.
