[Writing] A Close CallTags: writing squirrel
I finished up my lunch.
“Hurry up, Bob, you’re late!”
I was, just a bit, but I always eat pretty slow, even if it’s a simple PBJ sandwich. I wolfed down the last few bites, dusted off my jeans, and got up. There was no one else in the canteen, so I turned off the lights. The guys like it bright here, even in broad daylight, with 3 of the 4 surrounding walls ridden with windows.
“Get yourself back to the chipper!”
Why I am still employed is one of the world’s biggest mysteries. I have asked myself this question plenty of times, but have never found answers. I headed to the wood chipper. The wood chipper is the easiest machine to operate on the site, next to the doorbell and coffee machine, so it was no problem for someone like me. “One ON/OFF switch, and don’t touch the blades,” they told me. I just throw wood in one end and it turns to sawdust and wood chips at the other. I turned it on and it whirled and cranked to life. There is a stack of wood right beside me and I routinely feed them into the chipper one-by-one. I was on my 8th piece of wood when it happened.
I threw the wood into the feed tube. Unfortunately for me, my sleeve got squished between the wood and the inside of the tube. It pulled me in towards the spinning blades that they told me not to touch.
“Help! Help!” I cried.
No one was around. I was about to give up when suddenly, the machine stopped. I yanked my arm out and inspected the damage. Still in one piece, good. I looked around and saw - you won’t believe this - a squirrel with it’s tiny paws holding what I believe was the power cable, the same squirrel that I had unknowingly saved 2 months ago; the only squirrel that had survived an encounter with the front of my Toyota. The squirrel cocked its fur-covered head; I saw a small inkling of understanding pass between us, and it ran off.