When I attended high school years ago I always seemed to get the coach that was dead set on getting me (and my classmates) to exercise or move around. I was not a fan. Our class was an all girl glass and there were about thirty of us. One particular afternoon, our coach decided to make us hike up a small mountain beside our school. At the top of this mountain was a small gazebo type deal where we stopped to rest and eat. We didn’t stay long and soon it was time to hike back down.

The path was pretty well cut out for us, there was always a danger of running into spiders or snakes though; we lived in the mountains. So we were ever vigilant to watch for these creatures. I was a lazy child and it took plenty of encouragement (or was it threats?) to get me to hike or move in gym class. Good luck with getting me to run, they’d need some incredible motivation to make that happen.

About halfway down this mountain we took a short break, just to catch our breath. I remember panting a little from the steep descent. Although I don’t like exercise, I do love nature. The sound of birds fluttering about and singing filled the air as the wind blew gently through the trees; it was such a peaceful moment, until the screaming started.

Confused I looked up to see one of the sweetest girls in our class, standing a good 3 feet away from me, screaming her lungs out. I thought maybe a spider had dropped on her or maybe she had seen a snake, until I saw something in her hair. I squinted to see what was crawling through her dark hair as more of them appeared. My heart climbed into my throat when I realized there were about ten to twenty yellow jackets crawling out of her long curly hair, she was screaming because some of them had gotten into her shirt and had begun stinging her. Apparently when she stopped, she stood right on their nest in the ground; which started an all out war. One in which we had no chances of winning.

A little background on myself, I’ve cleaned out snake pits, I’ve worked with spiders, and I’ll sit on my porch and watch three to four hundred pound black bear walk by. Put a bee within a mile of me and I’ll practically kill myself trying to get away.

I watched as these bees stormed out of this hole in the ground, as if it were the gateway to the pits of hell itself. Into the air they rose, dozens of them, tiny bringers of swift and painful punishment. They were bent on revenge and blood. Two girls rushed the one who was being stung and began slapping them off, while our teacher fought off the ones in her hair. These women have courage I’ll never have. But the bees kept pouring out of the ground in multitudes, the buzzing sound shot a since of doom into the air around us. The tiny wings of war made circles around us, I’m assuming to decide which of us had to go first.

The teacher finally shoved the girl away from the nest.

“Run!” She shouted.

Say no more. The woman had tried all year to find the proper motivation to get me to run and this was it. I can’t really remember ever moving that fast, most of it was a blur. I remember our coach telling us as we were hiking up to stay on the trail and take it slow and easy, there were several places where you could trip and twist an ankle, there was poison oak and snakes off the trail that we couldn’t see. None of that mattered now. I (along with my whole class) sprinted off of this trail, straight down the mountain. I dove into the bushes and trees, without a second thought of what could be in them. I was pushing through branches, storming down uncharted paths, and leaping from one trail to another below. I didn’t bother to look and see what was in front of me because I knew what was behind me.

I never broke stride. I could hear about ninety percent of the girls in class (most were behind me) screaming as if something were killing them. I learned later, they were being stung. I will say, I did not scream. I didn’t have the time or the energy; I was conserving all my strength for this long mad dash that was before me.

There was a girl that had gotten in front of me, several times she tried to stop and ask if there was a bee on her. I had no time for that. Keep moving honey, you’ll know if I see one. The most terrifying part of it was that, in the brief seconds that there wasn’t screaming, you could hear the bees. They were RIGHT BEHIND US.

When we finally hit the clearing, there was a small path that led to our football field. Of course around the field was our track, I can’t remember how many miles they said it was but it was more than I ever cared to run or walk. Once the girl’s shoes hit the pavement they stopped, they panted for breath as the rest of the class caught up. Not me, I kept running; I had no plans to be caught by a bee that day.

​On a side note, there were only three girls that didn’t get stung on that hike. I was one of them.  

My friend and I decided to grab some dinner after work one night.  A little back story on our friendship we are opposites in every way. My friend, we will call her T for now, is an extrovert, happy, bubbly, talks to EVERYONE, and makes new friends easily. I myself don’t go out into public unless I have to, I make a beeline for whatever I’m there for, refuse to make eye contact, and talk as little as possible before running for the exit.

I’m use to her habits though and I suppose through our friendship, I’m not as bad as I use to be. Of course now that I think about it, I could be worse. Who knows.

Anyway, we were seated and looking at the menu when I began to chastise her for talking to strangers. Talking to someone is one thing but sometimes she gave away a little more information than she needed to. Simply things strangers don’t need to know.

“I don’t do it all the time.” She said defensively.

I felt my face twist as I looked at her but I remained quiet. Our waiter came out to take our order and as he approached the table he smiled.

“Hello ladies, my name is John and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

Before he could finish his spill my friend points to herself, “I’m T.”

She then pointed at me and said, “That’s Laura.”

She literally just introduced us to our waiter after defending herself. I wasn’t sure which part of the whole scenario to be more upset about. The waiter seemed stunned and also uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said, “What can I get for you tonight?”

Clearly he didn’t care who we were and that was the first time in his life his customers had introduced themselves. As soon as it was out of her mouth, T realized what she had done and looked at me sheepishly. I didn’t say anything as my disapproving glare said it all.

I rest my case.

It was 2:30 am. I was doing what any reasonably sane person would be doing on a cold wintry night, I was sleeping. I was warm and comfortable, wrapped up in my large comforter; snuggling my body pillow. My husband was sound asleep beside me. I was pulled out of my sleep however when my nose began to run. I hate allergies. I have them bad. I wiped it away and tried to ignore the fact that tomorrow morning I would probably be sneezing my head off.

This annoying little sniffle wasn’t going away that easily though. Again, I wiped it away and tried to fall back to sleep; only to have it begin to pour out on my pillow. I sat up quickly in the pitch black in order to find some tissues, which I knew I didn’t have. I’d have to maneuver my way to the bathroom through the dark. At this point I had to cup my hands under my nose to keep it from pouring on the floor. I had never had allergies THIS BAD before. Gross huh? Any who, I hurried as quickly as I could through the darkness, trying to remember what I had left in the floor that I could trip over and hurt myself.

My bathroom at the time was small but had a huge mirror that lined the back wall. Not to be too graphic but my hands were quickly filling up so I rushed into the bathroom only stopping to flick on the light. Never in my life had my nose ran this bad. I’d have to find a high powered allergy medicine now. It took a good two to three seconds for me to realize just what I was looking at in the bathroom mirror. There I stood in all my glory with baggy pajama pants, an over sized t-shirt, with my hair smashed against one side of my head. (And that wasn’t the most shocking part!) Coming out of my nose was not seasonal drip but blood. Blood.

It wasn’t a ‘oh dear let me dab this up’ nose bleed. Oh no, it was liquid crimson flowing from the depths of my very being out of both of my nostrils. So much so that now both of my hands are covered in it. It’s pouring down my chin, whipping around my chin to flow down my neck and onto my t-shirt. My life’s blood poured from my nostrils rapidly into my cupped hands and there didn’t seem to be any end in sight. I took it all in, analyzing the situation and came to the only logical answer I knew of; I was dying. And in true ‘Laura fashion’ I handled the situation accordingly. I began SCREAMING. I could see the future quite clearly at that point; I would die alone in this small bathroom at 2:30 am on a Thursday due to blood loss before anyone could get to me. Did I try to stop the bleeding? Nope. Call for help? Nope. I just screamed. This would be my parting gift to the world, my last ear piercing squall of terror. To make it even better, I could feel it pouring down the back of my throat.

Somewhere between the screaming and the pouring I began to sway back and forth in this tiny bathroom. I’m not sure if I thought I needed to climb into the bathtub or crawl into the shelf with the towels but what I ended up succeeding in doing, was spilling blood onto the floor, across the sink, the toilet, and somehow got some on the wall.

My scream woke my husband who rushed in to see not just myself covered in blood but practically the whole bathroom. My bad.

“What happened?”

To which I replied in a startled terror, “I’m bleeding!”

Yeah, I know. Let the FBI know the case has been solved. Luckily my husband doesn’t panic like I do and he reached over me to get a wash cloth; wetting it in the sink, he turned to me.

“We need to stop the bleeding.”

Yeah, yeah! I like that, let’s do that! He tried to cup the cloth over my nose but at this point I’m still moving around. I’m not
going to stop either; in my mind, if I stop then I’m dead. Gotta keep moving. Why? I have no idea. It’s 2:30 in the morning and I’m bleeding out, it was all I had. It kind of felt like the Whack a Mole game at this point, I was the mole and my husband had the hammer. He tried to pin me down and plug my nose but I’m just fighting to stay alive here people!

He finally just pinned me in the corner, grabbing my nose through the cloth and pushing me down to the floor just to get the blood flow to stop. As soon as my bottom touched the floor, I felt what blood that was left in my head and upper body sink down to my toes; my color went with it. I don’t like the sight of blood, especially my own; so at this point I’ve reached my limit and I’m now going to faint. I didn’t.

He managed to stop the bleeding but had to pull me out of the bathroom because the sight of all the blood kept making me nauseated and faint. While I sat at the kitchen table he called 911 ‘just in case’. My husband had even mentioned he had never seen anyone’s nose bleed like that. Well what can I say honey? I go above and beyond in everything I do.

So there I sat, frazzled, bloody, and pale at my kitchen table; wondering where it all went wrong when this EMS worker walked in. He bent down and looked at me, he pressed the tip of his gloved finger to my nose gently and then said, “Yep, looks like a nose bleed.”

I nodded my head in utter amazement, ‘Oh you’re good’ I thought. I could feel my facial features twisting in honest annoyance.

“You wanna go to the hospital?” He asked.

I shook my head in silence, all my witty come backs had flooded out in the crimson waterfall a few minutes ago. 

Turns out, it was just a nose bleed. (I went to an Urgent Care later that morning.) Our bedroom had no windows and as I mentioned it was winter, so we had the heat on all night. The doctor said my nose just got too dry and that’s what caused the bleed. All I would need to keep it from happening again was a humidifier.

A humidifier and a therapist.

I was sixteen years old when we took our first trip to the ocean. Myrtle beach to be exact. My parents took me and my cousin for my birthday. I was so excited to go, I wanted nothing more than to get out into the ocean and swim.

About a month before we left I watched a show that educated me about what lived in the ocean. Needless to say after that I didn’t feel like I wanted to go into the ocean anymore. There were pokey fish that poisoned you, the eel things that popped out of the sand, and giant fish that could swallow you. Not to mention sharks. (I’ll go ahead and say, I’m not sure if any of those fish are native to that beach area but with my luck they’d probably move in that same weekend.)

But above all those things, the one thing that worried me most was the jelly fish. I was told they latch onto you and sting you; you can’t get them off and someone said they left barbs in you. It hurts for a long time and you always remember it. Well, as most of you know, I don’t do pain well. So I resigned myself to sit on the beach my entire trip and watch the waves roll in.

Don’t worry, my cousin talked me into trying it out. We decided that we could stand in the waves just far enough out that the water hit us just below the knees. The water was murky so there was no telling what was swimming around us, what horrors lie just beyond my toes. I didn’t like it. My cousin and I talked while we stood there, watching people swim or float. They were so far away from shore it gave me anxiety. They splashed around happily with absolutely no fear of what could be around them.

I stood there waiting for these people to be picked off my some prehistoric giant all while holding a conversation. In the back of my mind I couldn’t shake the thought of what was near me. I was barely in the water but something could be there, especially a jelly fish! I kept pushing the thought to the back of my mind over and over again but it always resurfaced. We had only been standing there five minutes but I could feel my time running out. Something was about to get me.

And something did. Without warning something latched itself around my ankle tightly, sealing itself to me. I automatically began screaming, cutting my cousin off mid sentence. I flailed my arms, kicking my leg to release whatever it was that had me but it wouldn’t let go. With the force of the waves, I couldn’t pull my leg up high enough to see what had me so (while screaming and making a spectacle of myself) I stumbled backwards towards the beach. I’m proud to say, I didn’t fall. I would take a step back and then kick, in hopes it would release me from whatever had me. This creature however had me and it wasn’t letting go. I could only assume it was a jelly fish, I waited for the piercing pain I had heard about as I stumbled onto the beach. I’m still screaming.

At one point I screamed, “It’s got me!”

My cousin ran out of the water with me, away from the swarm of unknown creatures that were left behind. They watched from a distance as one of their own took out a human (me). My heart was in my throat and I was about three seconds away from being sick. Stumbling onto the beach I forced myself to look down at what had me. There, wrapped tightly around my ankle, was a grocery bag.

A grocery bag.

I looked up to see a few people snicker. I kicked the thing off of my ankle with as much hatred as I could muster, which wasn’t much because all the fight had been drained out of me during my race for the shore.

After I threw the bag away, we went back to the hotel; quite frankly I needed a nap. I never went back. 

It was my first week of working at the grocery store, my sister also worked there as a manager. She usually worked a different shift but that day we worked together. I had just been put on the register by myself the previous day and I kept my head down, making sure I scanned everything, entered the right codes, and gave the right change.

Things were moving along fine and my line was full. When my sister walked up to the register and asked me to move down to the baggers position I thought I had done something wrong.

“Why?” I asked almost insulted.

“Just move down for a minute,” she told me pushing me to the side.

She finished ringing up my current customer and welcomed the next, it was then I noticed them. How I didn’t notice them before is beyond me, I suppose I was concentrating harder than I thought. Two men stood in my line waiting for their turn to be rung up. They were older than both of us, with dirty blue jeans, one had a t-shirt and the other a button up shirt that was halfway unbuttoned.

They struggled to stay upright, swaying this way and that; one fell into the candy bars a few times. They tried to talk to each other but they only slurred. At this point in my life, I had never seen someone that drunk. Both men had a firm grasp on their cases of beer which kept tipping them forward which made it a real struggle for them not to fall into the customer in front of them. I felt my eyes widen as I took them in.

Finally it was their turn to pay. They stumbled up to the register, dropping their cases of beer onto the counter; almost missing it. One of the men pulled his wallet out—oblivious to my sister’s face. Calmly she put her hand on a case of beer and spoke.

“I’m sorry guys I can’t sell you this beer.”

“Why?” One of the men asked surprised.

“Because you’re already drunk,” she told them.

“I’m not drunk,” the man proclaimed pressing his hand against his chest, “It’s my medication.”

I heard my sister sigh ‘uh-huh’ under her breath before she spoke again.

“Well I can smell your medication all the way over here. I can’t sell this to you.”

The man huffed as if he were offended; jerking his head back with attitude (almost falling backwards) he managed a disgusted slurred sound.

“Well I’ll go somewhere else and buy it then.” He spit, his friend nodding in agreement behind him.

His friend managed a, ‘Yeah’ before stumbling sideways.

“That’s fine.” My sister told them.

I stood there astonished, counting the times each one almost fell over. I couldn’t believe just how offended they were at this point.

Then he leaned over the counter a bit, squinting his eyes as if he couldn’t really see my sister. He looked at her as if he were confused at first, then he turned to me; still squinting. He pulled himself back upright as he looked back at my sister.

“I don’t know which one I want more,” he told her, “You or the little blond.”

I can only describe the sound that came out of me as the initial sound you make right before you throw up. I didn’t mean to make that sound but it was out of me before I could stop it. The woman next in line scrunched her face up silently as if she smelled something raunchy. There was a good ten seconds of him awkwardly starting at both of us (I was silently screaming on the inside) before my sister inhaled deeply.

“Leave.” She had never been that monotone before.

They turned and stumbled towards the door, unbelievably staying upright the whole time. My mouth was still open when I turned back to her.

“Okay take your spot back.” She told me walking away.

​I was so stunned I couldn’t say anything. To this day, she still laughs about it. 

I left the house like any other morning to go to school but this particular morning was different. My father was sitting in the car in the driveway waiting for me like usual, when I passed through the back door I ran into one of those pesky spider webs. You know, the ones you can’t see that plaster straight across your face.

I did my ninja dance and then carried on with my day. I hopped into the passenger seat with my book bag that weighed at least a hundred and forty two pounds.

“You ready?” My father asked putting the car in reverse.

“Yeah.” I huffed, already dreading going to school.

But then the unexpected happened. This gigantic arachnid scampered ACROSS MY FACE. It raced from my forehead down to my left cheek bone, back across my hair. Now normally I’m okay with spiders if I see them before hand but that day Itsy Bitsy had crossed the line.

It took all of five seconds for him to run across my face, just enough time to stop my heart and throw me into a tantrum the likes of which none had ever seen before.

My dad was looking at his side mirror (that’s how he backed up) and had just took his foot off the brake when I went into a mad hysteria of screaming and flailing about. I screamed so loud the first time it echoed in the car but I didn’t stop there, I let out a series of screams that had few to little breaks.

Somehow I got my foot out from under my book bag and began stomping the dashboard in order to thrust myself backwards away from the spider. Which didn’t really work, it was still on my head. I repeated the move again, stomping the dash with my foot, almost kneeing myself in the face, while I began slapping myself in the head- trying to knock the spider off.

My father who had yet to see the spider, slammed on the brakes and watched in awe at my emotional break down. I remember glancing up at him between the kicking and swatting, somewhere between the third and fourth dashboard assault; the man was looking at me like I needed a straight jacket. I was trying to simultaneously swat at my head and unbuckle my seat belt but was unsuccessful.

I’m not sure what Itsy Bitsy’s thought process was at this point but I’m sure he just wanted to get as far away from my self-taught taekwondo moves as he could. He hopped from my head onto the center console. That’s when my dad finally saw him. He looked at the spider in disbelief and then I saw a glimpse of relief go across his face when he realized I hadn’t completely lost my mind. I’m pretty sure Itsy didn’t have anything nice to say to me as he dashed off.

“Are you alright?” My dad asked, still watching the spider.

He looked up just in time to see me jerk my seat belt off, push the door open, and jerk my coat off. I stripped from the car all the way into the house. I was in the bathroom rocking back and forth in the corner when I heard him talking to my mom. (He apparently shut the car off and came inside.)

“I didn’t know what happened,” he said.

There was a short pause, I’m assuming my mom said something, and then he replied, “Well she kicked it off her forehead!”

Happy Father’s Day everyone.

My first year of high school was a mix of emotions. I was excited to be out of middle school and finally in high school, I’d be able to do ‘big kid’ things and yada yada. Unfortunately my last few weeks of middle school I had become aware of a certain celebration called Freshman Friday. Now Freshman Friday was celebrated on the first Friday after school began by the upperclassmen waiting for us.

Freshman Friday, as it was explained to me, was a free for all where the upperclassmen could basically do anything to us and get away with it; simply because they had survived it themselves. Apparently anything goes, you could get stuffed in a locker, head stuck in a toilet, beat up, you’ll get wrong directions so you’re late for class, your food gets stolen, backpack, you name it.

By now you should know, this wasn’t going to cut it for me. I had considered running away from home (at least for a day) to avoid this catastrophe but running away seemed like such an effort on my part. And considering I was involved, something worse might happen in the process of running away; I could get kidnapped or find myself on the other side of the world. I don’t know. By the time I had entertained the thought of running away, my head was spinning so bad I decided getting stuck in a locker was better than the latter.

Well just so you know Freshman Friday really isn’t a thing. It was something the upperclassmen made up to scare us. If I had thought about it I might have figured it out but for goodness sakes it’s me, I tend to assume the worst and go with it… have you read any of my blogs? I’d also like to note that I wasn’t the only one afraid; other people bought into it. Probably not to the extent I did but I wasn’t alone. It was a shame I didn’t find out Freshman Friday wasn’t real until after the fact.

Needless to say, that Friday I was on edge like never before. Every turn, every corner, I was ready. Would I get jumped now? Would they drag me off to where the teachers couldn’t hear me scream? I was trying to stay focused on where I was going, it was easy to get turned around, you didn’t want to be late for class because you got lost. I will say there were some nice people that gave me some good directions, it’s a shame I didn’t follow them; I’m still thinking they’re purposefully leading me wrong.

I was about halfway through the day when one of my friends called me out on it. She told me to calm down (I apparently had a look of panic the entire day) and that would get me got quicker than anything. It was then she told me she didn’t think Freshman Friday was a real thing, it was then I thought she’d be the first to go. We were standing in the hall during break, I remember thinking all the people around us were really tall. Well that’s because they were all seniors. We were on the senior hall. When I realized this, I started taking them in; it was probably the first time I had looked up from the ground all day. My thought process was, if you didn’t make eye contact, they couldn’t get you. Ah youth.

These scary seniors and other upperclassmen lined the halls, standing in front of lockers, laughing and talking. They watched as other students walked by but quickly turned back to their conversations. I realized they weren’t paying us any attention at all, they didn’t care if we were there. They also didn’t seem like they’d be the type to shove me in a locker. Well, maybe a few of them did. What was I so afraid of this whole time? All these kids I thought were diabolically scheming behind my back didn’t even know I existed. I thought there might be some hope for me, I might just get through this day unscathed.

I watched as a taller boy entered the hall, they were all so tall I couldn’t for the life of me tell what grade they were all in. This particular boy walked up to another boy (who was much taller) that was leaning up against a locker and nonchalantly pulled back and slugged the taller one right across the face.

Oh dear.

The whole hall fell silent. I felt my jaw drop. Did this kid want to die? I’ll give the taller boy props; he rubbed his jaw while glaring at this kid and then turned to walk away. Shorty however wasn’t having any of that, he slugging him again from behind.

We should move, crossed my mind. Too late. The taller boy turned around and shoved this kid so hard that the kid fell to the floor and skidded a little ways.

“You need to back off.” The taller one told him.

I agreed. He wasn’t even yelling but the way he said it and as calmly as he said it, he had my vote. Shorty however had something to prove, he jumped back up and started swinging. Now I had seen some fights at school before, you know, they’re swinging but they can’t really land anything or they’re swinging and then the teacher steps in. It never really lasted long. This was a whole new level. No one was backing down and they were mad! Where the teachers were, I have no idea; but if they had any sense they’d stay there.

These two continued to slug each other in the face for a while, moving down the hall. The taller one always seemed to be able to back the smaller one off but the smaller one always came back at him. They shoved each other into the lockers a few times (glad it wasn’t me) and slugged each other in the face multiple times. They acted like they didn’t even feel it, I felt it. I got the sense that the taller one, as mad as he was, wasn’t putting his all into it. Several times the taller one told the other to back off, you need to quit, just walk away. The short one wasn’t listening. Maybe he had been hit in the head too many times. I was beginning to think they’re were both going to end up with brain damage when the taller one knocked the smaller down on the ground for the final time.

“Just stop.” He told him.

Of course, Shorty jumped up to swing again. That’s when the taller one had had enough. He turned slightly and reared back with his foot, kicking this kid in the stomach so hard he flew through a closed door. A. Closed. Door.

There’s the teachers! They seemed to come out of every hole in the school, swarming the smaller kid (who was not getting back up) and stepping in front of the bigger one; who at this point had stopped and was just standing there. The teachers were throwing their hands up at him like he was going to charge. He just stood there, annoyed at the whole situation. I felt for him, he tried to walk away. The teachers took both kids away and I took my first breath since the fight had started.

Yeah, Freshman Friday isn't a thing. 

It was a hot day and I volunteered to do an ice cream run for everyone at work. We ended up with an order of thirteen hot fudge sundaes, two with extra hot fudge.

So I hurried off to get these famed sundaes in which everyone loved. In the drive thru I ordered my thirteen sundaes, two with extra hot fudge and then waited. And waited. Then I waited some more. I’m not sure what the people in front of me ordered but I’m pretty sure it was one of everything on the menu.

No matter, I’ll just turn on some tunes. That’s when everything went south. Before I knew it a song came across the waves that just tore up my insides. Something about someone dying, never going to see them again, they couldn’t believe it, I’m here without you, why did you leave; so on and so on.

I’m not exactly sure what happened or why I was so tore up by this song but I began to bawl. Bawl. And just like that the line began to move and I was at the window before I knew where I was. I hurried to wipe the tears away and pull my life together before the woman came to the window.

Too late. The window swung open and the lady looked me over. Here I am, ordering thirteen sundaes (two with extra hot fudge), bawling, scrambling for dollars and change. I was still rummaging to get the money when I looked up at her. She cocked her eye brow and rocked back on one hip. She didn’t say anything but her face said it all.

I handed her the money and she started passing the sundaes through the window. When she handed me my change she gave me a look that just screamed, ‘Honey go get you a gallon and pick up the pieces’.

​She slammed the window quickly and left me weeping with my thirteen sundaes.  

I was about two hours into my shift at the grocery store, talking to one of favorite service clerks when I heard it.

Wait… let me go back farther so it makes sense. When I arrived that morning for my shift, I noticed a few things, it wasn’t real busy, we had gotten a new stock of huge stuffed animals (what can I say, I’m a child; I love stuffed animals), and one of my favorite service clerks was there (Yay! I love talking to him).

Before I went to my register, I stopped by the box of large stuffed animals and peeked inside. The box held leopards, birds, snakes, and other animals. I wanted to buy every one of them but they were expensive, so I took one last look and went to work. The day seemed to go by fairly smooth, my favorite clerk (we will call him Lee) was working with me that day which meant I would actually enjoy my shift. Lee was in his late fifties and he and his wife were always so nice to talk to.

We had just finished ringing a customer up when another stepped into our line. A woman and her daughter stood ready to pay while I scanned the groceries and Lee bagged them. The mom was tall so I could see her over my register but the girl was hidden behind it. Eventually she moved to the other end and I watched as she fiddled around with something down at the end. Kids get bored so easily.

I was scanning the last item in the ladies cart when she pulled out a hundred dollar bill.

“Can you make change for a hundred?” She asked me.

I heard the question but I also heard something else. A bird, well not A bird, a lot of birds. In the middle of the grocery store. I looked up into the ceiling, half expecting to find a colony of birds above us. I knew the random bird got in every now and again but not this many. I scanned the windows and the ceiling and there wasn’t a single bird in sight. I looked back down at the woman and Lee, who were both staring at me, waiting for my reply about the hundred dollar bill. The birds were still chirping but neither the lady nor Lee seemed to hear it.

I managed a long ‘Uh—’. Was I losing my mind?

“A hundred,” the lady said again, “do you have change for a hundred?”

She slowly waved the bill in her hand, confused at my reaction. I did have change but I also had bigger problems. Now I could hear rushing water, almost like a waterfall; the birds were still chirping. I turned and looked around me to try to find the source of the noise, but there wasn’t one. Keep in mind this was before ‘ringtones’. I turned back to the lady and Lee who clearly could not hear it. They both seemed concerned. Well, that makes three of us now…

“I—”

Another noise cut off my answer, a flute. I’m hearing a dadgum flute, with water, and birds! It was a high pitched sound too, so why were these two not hearing it? I decided then that I was probably having a stroke or maybe slipping into an out of body experience type deal. I felt Lee rest his hand gently on my shoulder.

“Change,” he said, “She’s asking if you have change for a hundred dollar bill.”

That’s thoughtful of you to try to explain Lee but I KNOW WHAT SHE’S ASKING ME! DO YOU NOT HEAR THAT? I thought this, didn’t say it. I was screaming inside.

I caught a glimpse of the little girl staring at me, I could tell she thought I was a ‘weird’ cashier. She moved away from the end of the registers back to the other side of her mother where I couldn’t see her, I assumed she thought being close to her mother would save her when I finally flipped my lid.

“Yes.” I managed.

I could tell I seemed dazed and confused to Lee, he probably thought I had gone stupid.

I added, “Do you not hear that?”

Of course the sound stopped then.

“Hear what?” He asked.

You’ve got to be kidding me. How would I explain this to him, in front of an already concerned customer, without sounding crazy? I opened my mouth, determined to seem as stable as possible at this point, when the little girl walked back into view holding one of those black panthers out of the stuffed animal box. She mashed it’s front paw and the chirping birds echoed from inside it’s body. I pointed at the stuffed animal in accusation.

“Is that thing making a noise?” I asked exasperated.

Lee looked down at the leopard in the girl’s arms and back at me.

“You mean the birds?” He asked.

“Yes the birds!” I spit.

“Yeah,” he spoke, “Those things have been making noise all day.”

I turned to look at the box they came in again, in big bold letters it read, ‘Sounds of the Amazon”.

That lady never entered my line again…