Oil and Water

My sister accused me of only liking men who don't like me, and disliking men who like me as if this were some kind of choice I wake up in the morning and make. It's pretty much as useful as getting all up in the ocean's face just for being wet. Some things just ARE.

I offered a reasonable defense by telling her the story of my last date, and by last I don't mean recent - I mean it's the last date I'm going on because I'm pretty much done. He did seem to like me quite a bit though, and naturally I was repelled by his presence and we did save an animal from a horrible fate but that's later in the story.

You see, he wore bells.

That sentence alone should be enough of an explanation as to why I won't be seeing him again. The man wore bells tied into his shoelaces. When he walked it sounded like Santa's elves had escaped the frigging workshop and were making a decent run for it, somewhere off in the distance. It was bizarre.

I asked him as politely as I could what was up with the bells, and the only explanation he offered was that he liked them. I like the sound of rain at night but you don't see me walking around with a showercap and a watering can strapped to my head. Most days.

The plan was to stop for a coffee and go for a walk along the breakwater. In case I needed any further signs that the man with the bells and I would not be jingling together, he managed to irritate the shit out of me just by ordering cornbread.

I like cornbread as much of the next person. That's not entirely true...the truth is I don't give a rat's ass about cornbread. Order it and eat it and let's get on with it. The line-up was out the door but this guy ordered his cornbread and called the server back to the counter THREE times to make inquiries.

Was the cornbread chewy or crumbly? Did the server know?
Was the cornbread sweet, or more savoury? Was it more of a dessert style cornbread?
Was the cornbread being warmed, or heated? Because he would prefer the cornbread to be warm, but not hot...

I have never wanted to punch another living being wearing bells as much as I did in those moments. Every time he called after the server, the poor guy would have to make his way through the crowded and busy area behind the cashier, the coffee and steamer machines and some dude who was mopping.

Finally, cornbread and coffees ordered, paid for and properly warmed we were on our walk. My companion fancied himself to be quite the outdoorsman, and was pointing out the proper scientific names of seaweed, and laughing at those idiots who didn't know the difference between species of seal. Idiots like me.

Our walk is nearing an end when I spot an elderly woman near the end of the breakwater, peering down at a strange looking bird on the beach. The bird was solid black. I don't mean it's feathers were black, but everything on the bird was black. It's looked like a bird-shaped cut-out in the scenery, that's how black it was.

The old woman turned to us and asked if we knew what kind of bird that could be. My jingle-belled companion began his eighth nature lecture in as many minutes. "Why that's a cormorant, indigenous to the northern area of blah to the blah..."

Meanwhile, I kept staring at the bird-shaped hole in the universe and it dawned on me what I was seeing. The bird was covered in oil. From head to talon, dripping with oil. And then I couldn't help myself anymore so I said this:

"That's an oil-covered bird. Indigenous to oil-spills everywhere."

That actually shut up my jingle-belled friend quite nicely, so I was able to set about making some phone calls. For your reference, should you ever come across an oil-covered bird on a weekend the only thing the authorities will tell you to do is to bring the bird to them.

This posed a dilemma. What in the hell to do with an oil-covered bird? We went back to the coffee shop and I swear the server was just so thrilled we weren't back with more cornbread questions so he gave us a box and a roll of paper towels.

There was never any question of not trying to save this bird. It was so sad, and so pathetic I would not have been able to leave it there and sleep ever again. It couldn't walk properly, let alone fly. It would hold it's wings out as far as the weight of the oil would allow, take a few steps and give up. It would try to clean itself, making me think it would keel over from poisoning before we even got down to the beach.

Then came another dilemma. The paper towels were useless and we needed something to wrap the bird in to keep it quiet and calm in the box. My companion declared there was no way he was taking off his shirt, which left me, the less obvious choice to go topless.

I was wearing a new sweater with a camisole underneath. Do I strip to my camisole in public? Do I ruin my new sweater? Getting sexy in public was less of a concern than my new sweater, even though I only paid $8 for it at Ricki's but still...it was a good sweater on me goddammit. But off it came.

The guy snuck up on the bird, which was a good indication of how sick the bird had to have been if a guy wearing bells on his shoes can walk up behind it and grab a hold. The bird went into my sweater, the sweater and bird combo went into the box and we were off to the emergency animal shelter.

I held the box on my lap and the bird in my hands the entire way, stupidly thinking I could comfort the bird. Maybe it worked, because when it started thrashing I'd squeeze a little bit and it would stop.

It squeaked the entire way, as if it were pleading for a second chance. If we would just let it go, it wouldn't tell anybody and it hadn't seen our faces so there's no way it could identify us so please can't we just let it go?

We rush the bird inside the animal hospital, where some very nice ladies in scrubs took the box and bird away and promised to return with my sweater. While we waited I was asked to fill out a form, giving the particulars of who I was and where I had found the critter in distress.

I began filling it out, which pissed off my date. He felt he should be the one who got to fill out the form stating he had rescued it, because he caught it and drove the car. Seriously. So I gave him the best argument I could. My sweater, my form. He did get to sign his name on the bottom so I'm not sure why the panties in a twist.

I even listed the scientific term for the bird. Under Type of Animal: Angry Cormorant.

I never got a chance to call the clinic back to inquire after the bird, but I'm confident he's doing much better. He was thrashing pretty hard in my sweater, and any critter who is that angry will pull through out of sheer spite.

Unless of course the anger involves dating. In which case it's probably best to just give up.