Thursday, July 10, 2014

Ladder Man Lunch

Though I have never been too good at climbing company ladders, the ape shape inbred into my heredity allows me to scale their A-frame namesakes and scarf small hands of bananas in a single bound.  Step stools, buckets, padded chairs – you name it if I can stand on ‘em at precarious angles, then I’m the primate who can’t wait for lunch on a ledge. Don’t worry I’m usually safe since in addition to my freakishly flexible feet, I always unfurl at least one prehensile appendage to assist in my ascent, to manage a branch office and a delicious deli ‘sammich’.

Extension ladders are fine too as long as they are not automatically pretzel shaped and snapped compact with dozens of hinged jointy jaws and clickety-clapping pinchy bits. My tiny mind is already awash with webs, glue and tasks to do atop the ladder, rather than the matter of cognitive effort of how to un-spring the thing and sing its amazing praises beforehand too. Just be sure I have something harder than my head to lean on, and land to stand stronger than quicksand, or risk a strident screech from a Howler monkey in heat and an involuntary Grey Poupon discharge from sub to street.

You see the true fear I flee has more to do with the swish to and fro than the height of the tree. So whatever towering fermented turnip I tear up rarely matters but keep your bad breath to yourself and lets blow our separate ways to keep that sway far away. I get dizzier on a boat or a roller coaster than I do on a ladder but that’s probably because my Korean munches won’t roll with punches and often end up as Kimchi chum for fishes lunches.   
Logically I know the pole I shimmy has got a thicker skin than I do yet still the only flag waving and chewing I should be doing when windy is in town is firmly footed down soundly on the ground. So I must vow to ‘do’ lunch like everyone else with my paw grasped tightly to trencher shoveling carbs to craw; soft buns safely terra-firma bound to a gooey booth at the Hometown Buffet. Drinking diuretics though is another matter and a true hypoxic thing of beauty at high altitude for only real men who dare reach beyond the simple stool. For who among us can deny living life on the ledge with a topped-off bladder, yet not answer gravity’s depressingly relentless siren call with a forceful and resolute ladder-man SPLATTER!