Tuesday morning. As usual, I amble in to work, plop down at my disheveled cubicle and begin the morning ritual of checking e-mail and greeting coworkers. Enter the man who sometimes wears rainbow-colored socks (perhaps you’ve seen his picture).
“J’ai entendu que ton hamster est malade,” says he, matter-of-factly to my officemate, in French, which is not his native language. Sometimes these things get lost in translation. Not this time. I heard that your hamster is sick.
The dialogue continues. We discover that Rainbow Sock Man’s grade-school-aged son spent several hours entertaining the hamster two nights prior. The hamster has been moving a little slower ever since. “I think he wore him out,” says the officemate in English, which is not her native language. She proceeds to explain that the hamster used to keep her awake at night, doing hamster-y things, but over the past two nights, the officemate has slept soundly.
Several minutes later, I probe for more information, initially careful to show sympathy for my officemate during this difficult time of ailing hamster trauma, but also itching to play Armchair Rodent Doc. I’m sorry about your hamster. How do you know it’s not dead?
The hamster still breathes. Its heart still beats. Apparently the EKG came back normal, and all the vitals are fine. She would prefer that I not refer to the hamster as “it”. “It” is too impersonal – makes the hamster sound like an object. We have a cultural exchange on referring to animals by specific gender versus referring to animals as “it”. I point out that, in English, we refer to animals as “it” once they have been spayed or neutered. She points out that the gender can still be determined. I concede.
I’m getting nowhere with the prognosis, so I return to sympathy mode. “It’s like a little friend,” I say.
“Pas encore,” she replies. Not yet. She’s only had the hamster for eight days, and these relationships take time. She and the hamster are not on a friendship level yet. I take this to mean they’re still courting.
The conversation subsides. We have work to do. I return to checking e-mail and open an invitation to visit an all-girls’ school in the Middle East, followed shortly thereafter by an invitation to play Noah in an online game that involves saving or killing animals.
It takes me all afternoon to prevent the animals from perishing. My reward for saving the animals? A rainbow.
2 comments:
The impression I got was that the youngster in question was in close proximity to the hamster – I learned this morning that its, er, her name is Madam Jingles – and that the boy’s youthful energy wore out the hamster. Perhaps I should have said that the hamster entertained RSM’s son.
And, by the way, even though it’s Madam Jingles, we have no confirmation that the hamster is, in fact, a she.
Once again that picture haunts me. I only want to say that the socks helped our class last year to win all of Spirit Week!!!
RSM lives!!
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