News from the Savage Outskirts of Civilization, Suitable for the Enjoyment and Edification of the General Readership

The Company Picnic:

            OK, so my company has this company picnic. First off, I don’t want to go, as there have been threats of three-legged races, sack races, egg races, and all kinds of diversions straight out of Leave it to Beaver. Hey, I liked the that show as well as anyone, but after he got caught up a tree or in Mr. McGillicutti’s cabbage patch for the umpteenth time, it was time to admit that the world was a much grittier place.

            At any rate, I have to go to the picnic because I’m in management, and have to make a good appearance for appearance’s sake, all that crap. So I get there and the place is over-run with clowns, balloon animals, inflatable play areas, the works. I felt like there should have been a sign that read, “You must be below this height” to enter the picnic. Also, due to my office's large Christian contingent (who seem to ignore the fact that over half their workforce is probably Hindu when they're planning these types of things), the picnic was held at a state park, so alcohol was forbidden. Thus, the senior management sat in a boat offshore drinking beer for most of the day – either in exile or enjoying the safety of “international” waters between South Carolina and Georgia, I'm not sure which.

            I get there just in time for the canine demonstration. All the parents and all the children get down on the grass in a group and these three guys bring out three attack dogs. OK, now picture if you will, the only thing separating these dogs from lots of succulent children is, well, air. And maybe the momentary distraction of a parent softened and made slow and juicy by a desk job. These are highly trained dogs. One, a Czech Shepherd, cost $10,000. The German Shepherd was a former prison dog that they had bought at a bargain price because “during a tour, he had attacked the mayor and two inmates.” The third dog was a Rottweiler, and every time this dog twitched, you could see the muscles ripple down its body. Like I said, there were balloons and children, and the kids kept popping their balloons. The dog handler firmly explained to the crowd that these were trained attack dogs and that they would interpret the popping noises to be gunfire, so PLEASE STOP POPPING BALLOONS! Well, kids are kids, and some purposely kept popping balloons and some accidentally popped balloons. The dogs kept getting more and more agitated, and finally, they had to take two back to the van and keep only one out at any given time.  The most frightening display came from the Rottweiler, which was hauling its “victim” off of a bicycle, grabbing its arm and not letting go even when it was spun around in the air. The Rottweiler had been trained in Germany, so there was a very creepy undercurrent when the handler would yell at the dog in German commands. The dog didn’t listen very well, and your brain couldn't help but conjure images of jackbooted stormtroopers breaking down doors.

            Thankfully, no tragedies occurred on this sunny day, but it was such a bizarre demonstration for a party with so many kids. The kids, of course, thought it was the ultimate in coolness, but it would have been so easy for something unfortunate to happen.

My haircut:

            Just a reminder that I live in the Bible Belt.

            I’m getting my haircut, and it actually seems to be going OK. The lady seems to have heard my requests and -- more importantly -- understood them, and things seem to be going all right. I’m thinking that I need to get her card and let her cut my hair in the future.

            Then, out of the blue, she says, “Ya know, I’m really surprised that guy killed Jeffrey Dahmer in prison. I mean, it’s not like those boys Dahmer killed and ate were innocents…”

            What did I say? What _could_ I say? I was stunned. Plus, she had scissors near my eyes. Best not to argue about homosexuality -- much less whether cannibalism is a proper approach --  with an armed woman.

My lease:

            The lease on my new place specifically states that children -- if you just _have_ to have them -- are not allowed to play in the front yard, and should be kept out of sight.  It doesn’t affect me, but I can’t help imagining hordes of children living in an underground city under my neighborhood. At night, if I listen closely, I can hear the pitter patter of grimy little feet as they raid my food stores.

(c) 2005 Sweet Tea Prohibition