When I want to write about something but find myself 1) at work, 2) about to go to sleep, 3) unable to type because I’m at zumba class, I typically text myself (yes, there’s a whole conversation in my phone from me, to me), make a note in my phone (the more normal way of texting yourself), or write gibberish on a sticky note.
This week, I opted for gibberish on the sticky note.
I stuck it to the back of a galley I was reading, and as I read on the bus I thought about what someone would think if they found this sticky note on the ground, whether they’d ever be able to make sense of it. Does anyone else’s brain work in a way that can connect these disparate things and ideas? I’d like to think that someone could figure out that it’s not a shopping list or notes from a business call but rather a thought process captured in snippets.
Here’s hoping that sticky note captured your attention. I’ll explain.
There’s a park reserve near my house and a main thoroughfare that I drive not far from that. The geese that make their home in the park reserve like to cross this road and hang out by the office buildings on the other side. Yet another thing I don’t understand about this wildlife. I wonder if before the buildings were built up 20 years ago this was their main turf. Or if they have corporate aspirations.
I drive this road most every day, and when I see the geese, they’re usually on the other side of the road. Which suits me. Because I HATE geese. Active hatred. For a number of reasons.
- When I was in elementary school, every fall they would desecrate the pavement by the playground by treating it as their bathroom. As a result, we couldn’t play four-square (or really, even walk on the pavement without getting feces on our shoes). I still resent that.
- As many others will relate to, I had a bad experience with them while running. I tried to understand, because their babies were young, and I am much bigger than the average goose. I might seem a threat. But was it really necessary to hiss and flap at me while I cowered on the side of the path, terrified and only able to emit a small, weak scream? (It was an involuntary response.)
- They look mean. They walk around ready to attack and have black, menacing heads that hide their eyes. I can’t trust any animal I can’t look in the eyes.
Anyway, so earlier this week when I drove by the part of this road where the geese like to hang, a couple of them were trying to cross the road (TO GET TO THE PARK RESERVE ON THE OTHER SIDE! maybe this explains the chicken). As I approached in my Civic, they were trying to come into the lane I was in.
Finally, I thought. I have the power now.
Geese can honk, but my car can honk louder. So instead of letting them cross, or running them over out of vengeance, I honked at them as I approached. They backed up without hissing or flapping because they know what’s good for them, and I went on my merry way. I found immense satisfaction in this, but the revenge kind, not the I-done-good kind.
My satisfaction kind of stopped me short as I wondered whether that was a heartless thing to do. Should I have let them cross? Should I have stopped? I might have startled a car behind me into rear-ending me if I had. No, it was probably all right. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so gleeful about startling the geese and making them stay out of my lane though.
Or maybe it didn’t matter at all. But I thought some more about geese and whether or not anyone likes geese. Does anyone like them? What’s the point of them? That girl in Fly Away Home must have liked them to help them migrate. I never did understand that movie, though. Why geese?
I don’t know much about geese. Why did God make geese? I know they’re kind of mean, and seem to think they own the trails by my house as well as the road. They have babies and are super duper protective of them. I’ve never really heard about any good experiences with them. But I wonder if this is a snapshot of how prejudice works, that one takes a snapshot of a group one knows little to nothing about other than a few negative experiences and generalizes them to a whole group.
I don’t know. Maybe not.
It’s likely that I’m overthinking the whole interaction. My glee over honking just gave me pause. Maybe it just gives me some structure for thinking about how I judge people I encounter and whether or not my impressions were earned or given without reason.
Or maybe this is just about geese.