I Smell A Rat

Not really. I see a rat. Well, I did see one, on Tuesday, on the way to school. It was not a regular rat. Not like the one I saw on the electrical wire on the way to school a few years ago, which was so big I thought it was a squirrel with a bald tail. Nope. This one was bigger. And he was a rat of a different color.

There is some construction work starting for a new bowling alley. I'm thinking that the developer must be using some non-union local contractors, and that's what this rat business was about. I don't know. I don't get the local paper. That might make me accidentally informed on issues where I like to take a stand. The union thingy is no big deal to me. I can take it or leave it.

When I worked for the unemployment office, I saw the union workers as taking advantage of the system. Especially those Chrysler workers who had the nerve to complain about being laid off for two years at 90% pay, with money for education or training. They acted like they just couldn't make it. How dare the federal government expect them to report to the unemployment office once every four weeks to show that they had called their union hall at least once a week to see if work was available. Cry me a river! They could have worked another full-time job for that two-year paid vacation if they wanted to. And it must have been really rough to get up off the couch once a month to sit in our office for an hour to get 90% pay. They were pretty much jerks about the whole situation, belittling us because WE made them come in.

I don't mind a union that makes jobs safe and secure. Some employers need help in toeing the line. I just don't like those unions that bully people and claim entitlement. They are bad eggs.

Getting back to the rat...I saw him up around the bend before we got to the highway crossing. The #1 son was in his own world of iPhone earphones. I had to jab him to get his attention. "Look at the big rat!" He jumped. Then he whipped around his trusty iPhone and snapped Mr. Rat. He looked a little something like this (Mr. Rat, not my son. He is really quite presentable for a 13-year-old):


























OK, he didn't look something like that... that's him exactly. In the plastic. The Real McCoy. A right scary-lookin' fella.

The #1 son fiddled with his garget. "I'm going to take out his 'red-eye', Mom." No. I did not at all like the blue-eyed version. It lost a little something in translation.

Mr. Rat had claws at sharp as that ol' snapper that tried to get me. And it looked like he could use a gift certificate to an orthodontist. We could not wait long enough to read his proclamation. It's a road that feeds the local elementary where I refuse send my child. Kind of a scary sight for those young whippersnappers on that morning, wouldn't you say?

I'm not sure about that pink spot on his belly. Perhaps Mr. Rat caught a nasty case of ringworm. Or he had a see-through stomach and had just eaten a pepperoni pizza. I'm just thanking the Gummi Mary that he didn't have an udder like every bovine in Barnyard.

Is it just me, or does Mr. Rat bear a passing resemblance to Rudy Giuliani?