My life is not that funny. Everything usually turns out right.
The other day, I told my dad, “I saw a mouse once. It was the scariest moment of my life.”
He responded, “You have lived a very protected life.”
But, it really was scary.
There I was, sitting on the toilet, minding my own business, when, all of a sudden, I feel something tiny and squirmy next to my foot, and I look down, and it’s a mouse, and I scream and I jump, no underwear and all. I do a little scaredy-cat dance while the stupid mouse frantically and repeatedly rams it’s head into the side of the toilet. Finally, half my wits about me, I open wide the door to get the stupid little thing out of my sight.
But, of course, I had just let the stupid little thing out of my sight.
Growing up in the wilds of Florida, I had always feared a snake climbing up the bathroom pipe and biting me in the butt. Now, here I was, living my quaint little Silicon Valley life in Menlo Park, California, and my childhood nightmare had manifested itself in the form of a rodent. And, in my fear, I had let this mouse out, free to roam my home and attack me in the night.
My heart still racing, I ran across the house to the second living room to find two of my six roommates enjoying their lovely Saturday afternoon. I quickly screamed, “There was a mouse! There was a mouse! I was on the toilet and there was a mouse! And I opened the door and I let it out and now I don’t know where it is.”
Kyle stared at me blankly. And blinked. Slowly, he shrugged his shoulders. No help there.
Ari, on the other hand, gave a nervous laugh, and a smile.
“That’s actually kind of freaky”, he said.
“Yes! Will you help me find it?!”
With that, Ari accompanied me back to the scene of the crime. He inspected the area as I cowered on top of the sofa, standing and ready to leap at a moment’s notice.
“No mouse here,” he announced.
We kept up the search for another half hour, banging pots and pans and spraying essential oil of mint everywhere in an effort to drive the mouse out of hiding.
With no luck, we called off the search for the time being. I managed to calm down a notch or two, but I still asked Ari to stay with me, and I was still terrified of the toilet.
Two hours later, I had to pee.
Tip…toe…tip…toe…to my bathroom ten feet away. I stretch out my hand to turn on the light before cautiously stepping in. I check the sink, the shower, the floor around the toilet…And then, I slooooowly lift up the lid and….There he is! The dumb little bugger is drowning like an idiot in the water bowl. What is he doing in there???
“Ari, Ari!”, I cry out. “He’s in there. He’s inside the toilet. Go kill it. Please, pleeease, go kill it.”
Ari. Walks. So. Slow. This is an emergency, and he walks that slow. He calmly looks down at the dying mouse, smirks, and with one, simple movement, flushes.
“Flush it again. Flush it AGAIN.” I have murder, and desperation, in my eyes now.
He flushes. One, two, three more times.
Finished with his mission, Ari reports back.
“I flushed it four times. It should be dead. It shouldn’t be coming back.”
We spend the next twenty-four hours Googling how long rats can survive underwater.
Thus ends the scariest, and, therefore, the funniest moment of my life.