Hanging Out

Last week I was part of a very strange conversation with my girlfriend, Connie, that I was reminded of today reading another friend's Facebook update.

Here was my half of the conversation:

"When did he ingest it? I didn't think he was tall enough to reach that far..."

"Was it the sparkly flat kind or the crinkly sparkly kind?"

"Can you see his rectum? Is anything sparkly hanging out of there?"

"Well, OK, you're just going to have to wait and then hope it passes of its own accord, try to feed him some bread or something to bulk his feces up a little so it doesn't get caught on the way out because we definitely want to see all of it when it comes out."

"Oh, wait...you see it? No, no! Don't pull it! Whatever you do, don't pull the damn thing, and I know it's tempting since its just hanging there and you can't help but see it because it's sparkly but you can cause some serious internal damage if you pull too hard..."

"Yeah, I know it's hard to wait but, trust me, it will be better for him in the end..."

"OK, well, just get something to go through the shit with...I don't know...maybe a popsickle stick? Do you have an old fork or spoon you're willing to sacrifice? And you're going to have to do it piece by piece..."

It was about this time when I glanced up from my conversation to see my colleague staring at me in complete and utter shock from my office doorway.

Or maybe it wasn't shock...maybe it was a combination of horror and confusion. Like when you realize that your kindly neighbor is actually into necrophilia or being whipped by bands of midgets with barbed wire... or something...

THAT kind of look.

I realized that only hearing my side of the conversation, his horror was probably warranted.

I reached my hands out to him, trying to urge him to stay so I could explain as he slowly backed away from me....zombie style.

Putting my hand over the phone, I said, "Bill, I promise, it is NOT what it seems like at all...I can explain as soon as I finish up here..."

He turned around and marched off back down the hall to his office, shaking his head the entire way.

After hanging up the phone, I decided to get it over with sooner rather than later and headed his way.

"Look, Bill, I know that whole conversation sounded really...um...gross and probably oddly sexual in a very bad way but I am just going to assure you..."

He cut me off.

"Patti, I have always liked you and you know that you're one of my favorite people here and I shouldn't have  been eavesdropping on your conversation but once I heard the first few lines, well, um, I kind of was rooted in place...but I just want to tell you that whoever and whatever it was that you were talking to and about...well, I still consider you a consummate, ah, well, a professional...in the office..."

Clearly indicating that he had no time for whatever profession I was undertaking outside of the office.

I sighed.

Sometimes I forget that most of the people I interact with on a daily basis these days only know me as "Washington DC Patti" or "Uganda Patti." They don't know that for over 10 years I was a veterinary technician in Philadelphia.

They don't know that I do occasionally still moonlight in this activity for friends...mainly in the form of simple things like trimming their dog's or cat's nails or ponying up some free veterinary advice on things that seem traumatic but can usually be talked through without an expensive trip to the veterinarian's office.

I knew Bill had a dog that he loved dearly who had once ingested his wife's fur coat so I thought he'd understand.

"I wasn't talking about a per..." I started

He cut me off again.

"Patti, told you, no need to explain. Just tell me one thing...that wasn't Chas you were talking about, right?" he whispered.

Aw, shit.

Bill likes Chas a lot and my boyfriend likes him too. They connect well because of similar backgrounds.

And so now here was Bill, our accountant, thinking that I was...well, whatever...I can't even go there myself.

"Bill! Please listen to me!" I said.

"It was about A CAT. Not a person, but a CAT. My friend's cat got into a bag of tinsel left over from Christmas and ate some of it and that can be a dangerous situation because it can get wrapped up in their intestines and do really bad things. So you have to make sure it all passes and the only way to do that is to check their..."

He cut me off again. Relief spreading over his face as he hopped up to give me a big bear hug.

"Oh thank God!" he said. "I try not to be judgmental and I have seen some strange stuff in my time but that...that..." he trailed off.

I assured him it was OK.

Then I made a mental note to inform every single person in my office about my former profession.

God only knows what would happen if people thought I was into feeding my lovers tinsel...

Oh, and what reminded me of this conversation that would otherwise have been forgotten? My friend Nick on FB posted "Tonight, I am a cat poop archaeologist..." and oddly I knew EXACTLY what he meant...