Every few weeks, an exterminator comes into the coffee shop to check the store for cooties. He arrived yesterday with his trademark medevil-looking mysterious silver toxic spray tank in tow to do his thang.

It is winter now, and evidently, a few mice have snuck into the basement to keep from becoming mousecicles. Don’t be alarmed or lead this to you thinking the shop is unsanitary. 1) Mice are cute, and 2) around this time of the year, a lot of people are experiencing problems of meeses moving into their warm homes.

Mr. Exterminator, or Crocodile Hunter as we call him (he bears an uncanny resemblance to Steve Irwin) came across a fresh mouse corpse in the basement that had digested some blue poison mouse food he left for them. The mouse was still in its original shape and looking like it was taking a nap.

The interesting thing about this is how it was presented to me. Croc Hunter came upstairs holding the cadaver in a pair of kitchen tongs that looked just like the ones my mom used to use while frying chicken.

I found this very amusing to say the least. How many people can honestly say they’ve seen a dead mouse being held by kitchen tongs? I doubt there’s too many on the planet, and I’m one of them. This makes me feel unique and special. I immediately felt inclined to call my mom and ask if she’d drive her deep fryer over so I could give this little fella a hot oil bath, if you know what I’m sayin’. When you grow up seeing tongs used only for food preparation purposes and you one day see them used to handle a dead mouse, it sends the brain mixed signals.

After bringing my attention to the dead mouse in tongs, Croc Hunter disposed of him improperly in the trash can. I say improperly because he said “I’ll just throw it in here – they don’t smell or anything,” flipped open the trash bin next to the employee table, and released tong pressure to let mousey fall into the depths of coffee shop hell – old used cups, potato chip wrappers, tissues, etc.

First off, Crocodile Hunter, show some respect to the little guy. Take him out back in the alley and dig a hole in which to bury him. Place him in there gently, not using tongs, and say a few kind words.

Second, you were wrong – they do stink, you hyperactive cootie-killing bastard! I sat a few feet away from the garbage can, and I’ll be damned if my nose didn’t detect the green funk of decaying rodent not 5 minutes after you left.

Third, I don’t know how those tongs ended up on the ladies room stall after you were done picking up dead things with them. And I have a feeling I don’t want to know.

R.I.P., little mouse.. may your soon-to-be-poisoned and deceased relatives not be buried in our trashcan via a pair of kitchen tongs like you were.