Abigail R. Gehring - Odd Jobs: 101 Ways to Make an Extra Buck

Pedicab Operator

The biggest issue was the ferret. Sure, there were other things about the job that were a little strange. Like the lengths of damp paper towel strewn about the kitchen, draped over the dish drainer, and hanging from cabinet knobs, because Maria instructed us to reuse them for hand drying until they disintegrated. (I really dont know why we couldnt have just put out a regular cloth hand towel.) There was the day that she asked if I had ever repaired a roof, and when I said no, she told me where to find the hammer, and I guessed that meant I had to figure it out. Out the window I went. Or the way she insisted I stand certain ways in her presencenot hunched but not too rigid, and never in the doorway when she was sitting at her desk facing the window, because it created bad energy. Overall, I made out just fine, considering that she asked one of my friends who also assisted her (for a short time) whether she had had forceps used on her at birth. Because that could explain a lot, she said, sounding almost sympathetic. You know, like why youre so slow .

But, like I said, the ferret was the clincher. It was a vicious, slinky thing, and it ran freely about the house. Heaven forbid if you should open the door and let it sneak out into the suburban New Jersey neighborhood. This was, perhaps, my greatest fear. There would be no catching the little beast, and though I would have secretly rejoiced in its choice to adapt to an alternative lifestyle, away from the confines of a fourwalled home where it had to coexist with me, its escape would surely unleash an entirely new fury in Maria. And it would most likely be the end of a job that, despite its oddities, I wished to keep at least until the end of the summer.

Maybe I never really gave the critter a chance. I have to admit that I disliked it from the moment it stared up at me with its rodent eyes as if it were daring me to do somethingwhat, Im not sure. I thought for a second that perhaps it wanted me to run my fingers lightly across its glossy coat, but apparently I was wrong, because just then it darted under the table. Which, I learned, was actually a good thing, since a moment later Maria warned, Careful. He nips a bit sometimes. A nipping, beady-eyed rodent. Whats not to love?

I was organizing the cupboard under the bathroom sink when we had our first match. I had an enormous package of toilet paper rolls, which were all supposed to fit in the cupboard, despite the fact that it was already full of cleaning solutions, old toothbrushes, a large bottle of peroxide, bags of cotton ballsyou know, all the usual under-the-sink stuff. It was a small bathroom, but I sat on the floor with my legs straddled, sorting things out on the linoleum around methe first step in the consolidation effort. I leaned forward, working quickly (efficiency was the god of that particular household/business) when I felt a sharp pinch on my lower back, in the gap between the top of my jeans and the bottom of my shirt. I flinched and turned around just in time to see a black streak disappear around the corner. Ferret... I warned (I was never willing to dignify it by using its Christian name). I set back to work, chuckling despite myself. There I was, sprawled out on a bathroom floor, sorting toilet paper and getting my butt bit by a rodent. The second time it wasnt so funny, and the third time he really chomped down; I actually heard a little rodent snicker as it scuttled away. I stood up, ready for action. I couldnt shut the door because I wouldnt fit in there with all the stuff sprawled out, and besides, I had a sneaky suspicion that ferrets could flatten themselves out and squeeze under door cracks. Maybe it was unfounded, but I wasnt taking the risk.

Where are you, Ferret? I called in my most syrupy voice. It peeked its head out from behind a flowerpot and the moment of truth was upon me (although I cant now remember what Id thought I was actually going to do). But apparently I had spoken too loudly. What? Is he causing trouble again? Maria came around the corner, speaking in that little kid, gaga googoo voice that I detest under all circumstances. Yes, a bit, I answered flatly. To my relief she swept it up in her arms and carried it away, mumbling into its fur, He must be bored. Are you bored, little fella? Although generally I dont support killing animals for their fur, I couldnt help thinking at that moment that Ferret would make a lovely muff.

Ferrets greatest weapon was the element of surprise. He had an impressively developed sense of timing for a creature who was basically a floor mop with teeth. One morning Pam was making business phone calls in the office as I pieced together the fourth scrapbook of business-related articles, letters, and photographs. We have two different addresses for you, and Id just like to verify which one is correct, I heard Pam saying. I zoned out again, absorbed in chronological sorting, until a loud yelp broke my concentration. It was immediately followed by quick, breathless apologies as Pam swatted madly at her pant legs with her free hand, a bulge moving and squeaking somewhere around her right thigh. She flinched and I knew he was biting hard. Amazingly, after the initial shriek, she managed to remain composed over the phone, shaking her leg violently while trying to write down an address. I shouldve helped, but all I could do was stare, aghast.

Pam survived without injury, as did the ferret (unfortunately, I thought at the time), but from that day on we kept our legs curled up Indian style on our seats whenever we made calls. I still find myself occasionally tucking up my feet in office situations, and I get edgy when my shirt doesnt come down low enough in backsurvival habits formed in extreme situations dont quickly fade.