Dead Meat

Everyone knows how I feel about wildlife: not good. I don't like wildlife when it's in the wild, so you can imagine how I feel when I see wildlife around my home: even worse.

Turkeys have been turning up all over Boston recently, especially nearby where I live. Some people love these wild turkeys. They think it's just great that animals are starting to cohabitate with humans. They love that when the turkeys cross the street, traffic stops and waits. They love that the turkeys show their feathers. They love that the turkeys just waddle around, going about their business, while humans do the same.

I am not one of these people.

I don't like the turkeys. I don't like having to dodge them when I'm walking down the street. I don't like having to wait in traffic while they cross at the crosswalk. I get freaked out when they start running a little bit with their feathers all out because I have no clue where this crazy bird is going. I don't like that they block doorways and stairways. I don't like that they stare you down.

This is my new reality. This morning, at 6 AM, when I'm having enough trouble interacting with the person ringing up my coffee, I went to get into the shop and a turkey was blocking the door. I spent a minute or two trying to get the damn bird out of the way, but I couldn't figure anything out besides snapping my fingers at him. So I did that, and the bird sort of lunged in my direction and so I squeezed into the shop, shutting the door behind me. I got my coffee and went to leave, and of course, there was that dumb bird standing right in the doorway. Now, I don't have forever in the morning. And by forever I mean, I have absolutely no time to waste waiting for a birdbrained animal to move out of my way. So I pushed open the door and the bird sort of scampered away and then proceeded to glare at me and follow me as I walked down the street.

You might think I have no clue what I'm talking about, but trust me: that bird was glaring and following me. It's 6 AM, nobody's out, so it's just me and this turkey walking down the street. I'm sure if someone painted it, it would be a charming picture. Me going to work; turkey going nowhere, both of us just ambling along. But in reality, this was not pleasant. I kept thinking about my brother, actually, because he is afraid of birds. I kept imagining how much he'd freak out if a turkey was following three steps behind him. He'd probably flip out. I started laughing thinking about all of this and when I laughed, I think I freaked out the bird, because he started opening up his feathers and walking faster towards me, which made me sort of freak out. And then I felt bad about laughing about my brother because here I was, freaking out and contemplating seeking refuge in the 7-11 with the sketchy cashier who always wants to talk about the globalization of the economy (at 6 AM). I was actually considering that I'd rather be beaten down by these turkey feathers than have to hear abou the Portuguese economny when the turkey stopped in its tracks and turned around, apparently tired of me. So I continued to work, and the turkey probably continued wherever he had to go.

So no, there was no big stand-off, and no, the turkey didn't attack me or really hinder my morning too much, and so I guess I can't call animal control (though I don't get WHY NOT) and I just have to accept that we can all share this wonderful place called earth.

Well you know what? I don't want to share at all, but I don't really know any other solution. I started thinking about what I could do about this: animal control said they've gotten enough calls, so what they advise is that if you see a turkey, you just continue about your business and try not to excite the bird by waving your arms around. Wow, animal control, thanks for the help. Really insightful. I started considering whether they could come out and round up the turkeys and deposit them in some land area, but then I realized that there are just too damn many and besides, how would they trap them? Would they just keep coming out every time we found a turkey? Probably not. Now I remembered that it's almost winter, and I thought about whether the turkeys would freeze. Not to sound like Holen Caulfield, but where would the turkeys go in the winter? Would they migrate? Would this be the end of them?

I have no idea. I kept thinking about how to get rid of these turkeys, but I just kept coming up with more questions. The ultimate questions really scared me: Would I have to get used to this? What if turkeys become like pigeons? (Which, by the way, are getting more aggressive every day.) I freaking hope not, because I'm not going to be able to survive.

Then Again, Maybe I Won't

I took the T into downtown Boston yesterday afternoon after work. It was about 2:30. A little girl, 8 years old, and her dad got on the T when it was getting a little crowded. The dad told his daughter to take the seat that was open next to me, and he took one up the two stairs. I offered to switch with him, but he said they'd be fine. I was reading my Sports Illustrated World Series Commemorative Edition. Anyway, the T was pretty quiet, until a group of students from one of the schools got on the T. There were about seven of them, and they were going to own the T.

I don't know what they were yelling about, or what their problem was, but they proceeded to use words that embarrass me to think, let alone say. A few times, they looked down and saw the little girl next to me, but they didn't even pause. They just kept yelling at each other, in the way that you're not sure - are they kidding or are they arguing? A few shoves back and forth, almost into my lap and the girl's, and again, nothing. A few times they noticed that they were the loudest on the train, and that when they actually stopped yelling out motherfucking this and motherfucking that, that the train had been silenced by their egregious behavior. You'd think this would make them pause, but it didn't. The little girl looked at me, shaking her head, like she knew better and knew how bad this was. And then, when they started getting louder and fighting more, I noticed she kept getting nervous.

"You okay?" I asked her.

She nodded. "I can't see my dad though," she said. She tried to look for him, but a bunch of red and black jackets of the kids obscured her view.

"He's still there," I told her. I asked how old she was. She said eight. I asked if she liked going to school. She said yes. I asked her if she liked the Red Sox. She nodded and told me that her mom works there, selling food in the stands. She's never been there, though. So I showed her my magazine and asked if she'd like to read it. She said she would, so I gave it to her and she began to look at all the pictures.

A few stops later, her dad came over and they got off the train. She took the magazine with her, even though that hadn't really been my intention. I had just given it to her for a few minutes, so that she could concentrate on something besides the jerks in front of her. But it's a small cost.

A few stops after that, an old woman got on the T and amid the chaos, couldn't find a seat. I questioned for a second whether I should give her mine - would this really be a good thing? - and then, seeing her eye it, I gave it up to her and went to the back of the train. One lone loser of the crowd was back there. He was talking to the other passengers on the train, telling them that he'd take us all out to dinner on his bank card. "I got bank," he said. "I got tons of bank. I'd take you ladies out on the town. The TOWn. I mean it."

He stopped for a few minutes and talked to himself after he realized nobody was dignifying his comments or his friends' with any response. I was wondering if he had any real mental health problems, because if he was ten or twenty years older, yu'd think he was just one of those people who talk to themselves and once in a while try to engage others in their whacked conversations.

"Any of yous ever been to jail?" he asked. "I been to jail three times. Nobody fucked with me there. Nobody's gonna fuck with me, ever, you know?"

Nobody responded, but a few people looked at him probably the same way I was, trying to calculate his age. 15? 17, at most? Three times?

Sometimes, hearing stuff like this makes you reconsider your first judgment: what a crazy asshole. Now, you start to think, hmm, maybe he's got some serious mental problems going on and his situation is far more precarious than you'd thought before. You might start to feel sorry for him, sorry for his sorry situation.

But I didn't.

Here's what I was thinking: get me the fuck away from these guys. Just get me away. I didn't want to hear them or see them or know they existed. The separation on the train was clear: there were these kids, and there was everyone else. And they dominated the train. Not one person stood up to them and told them to stop talking, stop yelling, that they were scaring an eight year old girl and eighty year old woman. And I think I know why: most others were scared. You didn't know, for a few minutes here and there, if they were going to start really fighting with each other. It wasn't that I was afraid they were going to come after me or that eight year old, it was that I was afraid they had no consideration for anyone around them, and so when they decided it was time to really fight, they'd fight right there and we'd get the brunt of it. I didn't want to be anywhere near them because of what might happen to them that would then affect me.

While I was on that T, I realized that my attitude towards those kids was the same as a lot of people's attitudes towards city kids in general: they're deadbeats, the dregs of society. Nobody wants them. Nobody wants to deal with them. My job requires that I do, and more importantly and sometimes harder, that I care about how I deal with them and what happens to them. I've often thought that if I could do anything in life, I'd have a program for inner city kids to get jobs and mentorships that also have tutoring and college prep services. And I've been an advocate for helping the neediest kids rather than the ones who just look like you're helping city kids, but you're really helping a suburban-type kid with a city address. But then yesterday, I tried to look at them and pick a kid that I'd want to help with my dream program. A kid I'd like to give a job to, a kid I'd like to give college prep services to. And I couldn't find one. They were about 15 years old, and I was ready to throw them away.