… so as I was going for my morning spaz around the domain today I came across a big blue-tounge lizard sunning himself in the middle of the path. Really big. I reckon he was about 40cm from nose to tail.
He couldn’t have chosen a better position, however to be either: a) eaten by one of the many dogs being walked along that path or b) run over by a jogger or cyclist, so I thought I’d help him move. I’ve picked them up before, I’ve even had (naughty) friends who’ve kept them as pets so I wasn’t scared of him.
But:- *FLASHBACK* to unexpected memories from my days working in bars.
It turns out blue-tounges are just like the drunken, old, cranky guy who is asleep in the middle of the road outside your bar when you close up at 5:30am.
You really want to go home but you can’t leave him there so you go and try a few words.
Sally: “Wake up, Guy, keep moving. C’mon you can’t sleep here”
Old drunk guy/Lizard: “Mmmheeh… @$#$@@..”
Sally: (nudging with foot) “C’mon, you’ll just get run over if you stay there”
Old drunk guy/Lizard: (really sounding cranky) “Ffffph…%$@#…myanufsmmm…”
So then you think you’re going to have to physically move the guy and you hope he hasn’t eaten in the last day because then he might be lighter and emptier.
Sally: (sucking it up and starting to thrust hands into stinky armpits) “OK, I’m gonna have to move you. Don’t shit on me or anything, OK?”
Old drunk guy/Lizard: “@$#$@@$#$@@%$@!!!!!”
And then he throws a really lame-arse punch at you that completely misses. The lizard equivalent of this is swinging around to bite you but his neck is really too fat for him to swing around far enough.
Sally: “Whoah! Guy! I’m just trying to help you, OK? Jesus, calm down…”
So you go for the pits again thinking if he doesn’t get run over, he’s going to get rolled for his brandevino money, even if he hasn’t got any left.
Old drunk guy/Lizard: (swinging a second lame punch/trying for another piece of finger) “MEHMEFEH##$%$#%%$@&*$#FEIH-M!!!!!”
Sally: “OK – I’ll stop trying to pick you up if you just MOVE!”
He sort of gets onto all fours and crawls one metre/centimetre before stopping.
Sally: (tapping the soles of his feet with your feet) “MOVE!!!!!”
Old drunk guy/Lizard: “Mmmeh!”
He keeps slowly shifting position and by the time he gets to the kerb/path edge he is standing/up to proper lizard speed. As he dissapears around the corner/into the scrub and he turns back to you and and angrily shouts “$@&$#VEIM-N!” one more time before he slinks away.
Sally: (thinks) “I’m washing my hands as soon as I get home…”
Gosh, I wonder why I ever got out of the hospitality industry?
At least it has equipped me for a future in wildlfe management…