Dirty, dirty squirrel

I decided to grab a little snack before call started tonight. I was walking through the hall of the desolate office building I now call home sweet home. I had my bookbag on my back, my white coat (complete with fresh coffee stains) over my arm, and a bowl of cereal in my hands. I was shoveling raisin bran crunch--you can actually live on that shit for weeks, by the way--into my mouth when the cleaning man nodded in my general direction and said hi.

I didn't want to be rude. But, my face stuffed with crunchy goodness (picture an emaciated squirrel in the middle of a nut famine at the moment the UN finally shows up with international acorn aid), I couldn't vocalize my, hi to you too, Mr. Clean. So, with my face hunched over my bowl, I sort of glanced at him over my glasses, licked some milk from my lips, and gave a little wave.

He recoiled a bit and made the oh that's just wrong face. You know, the face you make when you accidentally open up a spam email and find ugly people porn. That face. In fact, I think he may have thrown up in his mouth little.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell had inspired his revulsion. And then, I realized what had happened there. A woman who hasn't showered in about 15 hours, a soggy piece of raisin bran crunch precariously perched on her chin and some milk on the end of her nose, just hit on him. Like a dirty squirrel.