For ten years I worked at the Syncrude plant site in Fort McMurray as a Pressure Monitoring Technician, where I was paid forty-two dollars an hour to stare at a small gauge that was never to deviate from reading exactly 15. I can tell you I excelled at my job because for ten long years the gauge never once read anything other than 15.
It was easy money and, due to a lack of people with my credentials, I had as much overtime as I could eat.
Any plans tonight, Jay?
None tonight, boss.
Feel like working another 12?
Sure thing, can you get switchboard to call my wife?
Things needed to change, or so I was reminded by the post-it notes I’d stumble upon hidden in various places around the house, inside the car, on my work boots, between slices of bread in my lunch.
Within three months we sold our home for the price of a private island off the coast of Portugal and bought a small acreage near Bonnyville. We had money in the bank and hope for a natural and holistic upbringing for our children. My wife was angelic in this setting. Floating like a pixie through trees and creek, working her garden, breastfeeding openly on the front porch. I was miserable and spent much of my time hurting myself around the yard, chipping cow patties with a 9 iron, getting drunk and passing out naked on the roof of the barn. I simply needed to work, and in time my wife’s resolve had begun to soften.
One morning I drove into town to pick up roofing nails and band-aids and I came across an advertisement. Ostrich Hand Wanted. Unsure of whether it was labor or an appendage that was being sought, I decided to call anyway, and before I knew it I was back in gainful employ. The farm was a ten minute drive from the house and I followed his directions to a tee. A mile west on the first road past the coulee, turn two miles north til you hit a leany grain bin that looks like sputnik, then a half mile east.
You got any ostrich experience? he asked as I made my way to where he leaned against a fence post.
No, I’m from outside the industry, I replied.
Cattle? he asked.
No. Pressure monitoring technician, actually.
No clue what that’s about but it’s prolly better than sittin’ on your ass. This way.
He led me to a barn with what seemed like an infestation of mutated turkeys.
These are them, he said while raising his arm to pet one of their ugly heads. The bird evaded him, swinging its neck as if avoiding a right hook. Just then I felt a hard abrasion to my scalp. I sidestepped, then turned in time to see my $200 prescription safety sunglasses disappear down the gullet of a creature whose eyes looked like my mother-in-law on too much lithium. I was in minor shock. I had forgotten how to blink.
What say we put you on egg duty for your first day? He patted my back somewhat condescendingly and led me back outside.
I was relieved. I imagined carrying crates of eggs from a pen and loading them into the backs of trucks. Good exercise.
See that hen out in the field? He pointed. She’s freshly laid, I need you to bring in the egg.
I took barely a step before he intercepted my eagerness.
Hold on there, son. You don’t think she’s gonna just give it to you, do ya?
Oh right. I paused. Do I have to fight her for it?
Jesus, no, you wouldn’t stand a chance in hell. You gotta sneak up after she wanders off for a hundred yards or so, grab it, then run like a bastard back to this side of the fence. And for the love of God, don’t look back.
I made my way, unsure of how to look inconspicuous to a bird in a sixty-acre field of dirt and fescue. I tried avoiding eye contact and just wandering. After nearly an hour the bird stood and finally walked away. By this time I had been laying on my back with a touch of sunstroke singing Lionel Ritchie songs at the top of my lungs, but within moments I had the cargo in my hands. Triumph. I examined the weight, the surprisingly perfect shape, the smooth exterior.
Git yer ass back here, you idiot!
I looked up to see the bird moving toward me with the stealth of a gryphon. I turned and ran awkwardly fast, cradling the egg like a newborn to my chest. I could hear her big leathery feet gaining, but the fence and the farmer were getting closer. I refused to look behind. Straight forward hoping for some semblance of encouragement from the farmer who stood there stiff, knees together, his eyes closed, hard. I could see every tooth in his mouth as he pulled the side brims of his hat further and further down over his ears. Then everything went quite calmingly black.
I was dead, or near to it. There was no sound, nor smell, nothing but the cliched white light. A luminous circle suspended in darkness. Unsure of the cards dealt to me by fate, I walked toward it, thought of the important things in my life; golf, my wife and the boys, my new job. The circle grew smaller as I approached and within moments I was close enough to discern that it wasn’t a pathway to the afterlife at all, but a glycol-filled, fully functioning, calibrated pressure monitoring gauge set at exactly 15 pounds per square inch.
I stopped. Took a deep breath and turned. Walked slowly back, carrying my body like a perfect egg, to face the giant birds.
Jadon Rempel writes in Edmonton, Alberta.
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29 Responses to “OSTRICHES • by Jadon Rempel”
Comments
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January 5th, 2009 at 12:22 am
Got that tongue burying pretty far into that cheek, don’t you, Jadon?
Seriously funny stuff. I love it.
January 5th, 2009 at 1:53 am
Reads well, but dense me doesn’t get it at the end…
January 5th, 2009 at 3:35 am
I’m so glad that Robin got in first. Reminds me of the dunce I was in school, it’s always easier when there are two (or more) of you standing in the corner.
Jadon, I loved the atmosphere, the characters, and the situations, but the ending has me foxed.
Sorry
January 5th, 2009 at 4:29 am
After hearing two usually astute readers say they didn’t get it, I am wondering if I just grabbed for an easy answer, but here’s what I took away from this sweet little story:
The ostrich catches up to the guy, attacks and sends him into oblivion. He is hovering at the edge of death, drawn toward the mythical light, and discovered that the afterlife is being presented to him as a pressure gauge, just like the one he was required to watch for ten years, day in and day out.
He is so repulsed by the idea of being stuck with that job for all of eternity that he decides to return to “life”, even if it involves facing giant killer birds.
So, Jadon. After baring my soul; like the wounded bank robber in Dirty Harry, I got to know. Is that what you intended?
January 5th, 2009 at 5:25 am
I didn’t get the ending, either (the last 2 paragraphs after things went black). Now, having had it explained, either I **STILL** don’t get it, or find it rather weak. Pretty good read **IF** something gets done about the ending.
January 5th, 2009 at 5:57 am
This story left me cold and indifferent until I was able to pick my way through the game puzzle wink aspect.
It seems that what is most important to the story is what is NEVER MENTIONED: Of most danger is (1)the ostrich kick – the FEET; and (2)Ostriches are wary of strangers – to be won by AFFECTION (observe ignored pat of farmer before first attack on hireling). Apparently this man must find his way to a niche with the mechanical in isolated machinations.
Smoothly and well written.
January 5th, 2009 at 5:58 am
I didn’t get the end either. I’m sure it made sense in the writers mind, but it didn’t translate out. Great up til that point.
January 5th, 2009 at 6:06 am
Jay -
It seemed to me that he saw himself (perfect egg) as a Humpty Dumpty ready to fall and decided to come out fighting(the losing stance) when all he has to do to succeed is get a job as a car mechanic.
January 5th, 2009 at 6:17 am
Loved the story, loved the tone and voice. Then the ending . . . I think I get where you’re going with it, but the ambiguity is a little too, um, ambiguous.
January 5th, 2009 at 6:26 am
His desire to go back to his old job was finally before him and the light showed him his past life and he chose to come back into the present…I think. But it doesn’t really matter because you gave us lots of options to believe in – or not as we choose – and we all choose – and maybe that is the whole point. So well done. I liked it tremendously because I don’t always want to know the answer when the question is so much more interesting – but I’m weird!
January 5th, 2009 at 6:32 am
I loved it. I also thought I’d ‘got it’ until I read these other comments.
Anyone who has done a routine boring job for many years would also probably get it. You kinda need to escape into a trance or fantasy in order to survive it.
To me this was a wonderful journey of the imagination – an interlude between realities – right from paragraph 8 to the last 2.
Maybe Canadians have a different way of looking at things. Eh! Sue in Nova Scotia
January 5th, 2009 at 6:40 am
Sorry – I should have added that the title said it all!
January 5th, 2009 at 6:57 am
Yep, the ending is ambiguous. But I like ambiguity, so this works for me. I’m choosing to read that this was a daydream. I know I’d be daydreaming if I had to watch a gauge all day!
Nice job, Jadon. Clever, clean writing.
January 5th, 2009 at 7:02 am
Yup. JC, I reckon you’ve cracked it. Yours sounds like the definitive version. Now I know why you’re wealthy and successful and I’m not. Duh!
(Usually astute, eh? I could get to like you, lady… On the other hand, perhaps your judgment is not so sound {I’ll say it before somebody else does])
Sue (in Nova Scotia) my Grandpappy came from NS, but it doesn’t seem to have done my way of looking at things a whole lot of good.
January 5th, 2009 at 7:03 am
Duh! Again… I was of course addressing K C , not J C – sorry!
January 5th, 2009 at 7:18 am
Who’s J.C.?
January 5th, 2009 at 7:27 am
And EDF doesn’t have any way for you to hear the sound of my judgment.
January 5th, 2009 at 7:34 am
I enjoyed it!
January 5th, 2009 at 8:01 am
After much deep thinking and pacing about, I’ve come to the conclusion that KC is right. The afterlife as offered to him is an eternity of facing that gauge, keeping it perfectly centered at 15 psi. Remember, it’s a job he did well and was content to do for long periods at a time, so it’s not a bad offer. The alternative: life with all its uncertainty, humiliations and other vicissitudes, exemplified by the ill-tempered birds. But also containing possibility. That’s why he carries his body “like a perfect egg” – it holds all the opportunities inherent in his new life. He decides to throw caution to the winds and turns his back on the safe certainty for this new thing.
January 5th, 2009 at 8:10 am
If death is watching a pressure gauge then life might be better. haha!
January 5th, 2009 at 8:24 am
Bob, Re: “inherent opportunities”; “turn back on safe certainty”–
The “inherent opportunities” in the full egg is another good way to look at it, but if one is lucky enough to have choices, only opportunities grasped well should be attempted. Maybe he just wants to escape the presence of his wife. As for safe – who knows?
January 5th, 2009 at 8:55 am
This piece grabbed me right away. An engrossing journey, clearly conveyed. There was a price to be paid for making money the end-all. Things might have gone differently, had he read an encyclopedia or two at his cushy tush job.
January 5th, 2009 at 9:38 am
Excellent, Jadon! I, for one, love a rousing discussion!
January 5th, 2009 at 11:58 am
I loved this story!! Ambiguity and all. I agree with the “afterlife” comments already posted; at least, that’s how I saw it as well…..better to face the unknown than to engage in the knowing mundane. What a great, funny story. Definitely one of my favs!
January 5th, 2009 at 3:51 pm
That was amazing funny, I loved the part wher he qustion whether thet wanted employ or an apandage. Gave it a five!
January 5th, 2009 at 9:46 pm
This was really funny, and I like the use of wit and words – had me laughing like no other story on EDF in a long time. The ending was a bit confusing to me, too. I thought he got caught by the mother ostrich, mentally saw the 15 reading, drew strength from it, and returned to his life, but he opted for being the birds rather than retrieving the eggs. Jadon, would you clarify for all of us, please?
January 6th, 2009 at 5:27 am
4 1/2 stars + a bonus 1/2 star for the line about ducking the right hook.
January 6th, 2009 at 6:30 am
To add to the ambiguity… the protagonist, having been murdered (justifiably) by the ostrich, is presented with the choice of being the very gauge he peered at so richly for so many years or to be reborn as a little big egg of the mutated turkey variety, perhaps to be stolen, perhaps to hatch and protect.
March 5th, 2009 at 10:08 pm
I like turkeys. I used to have one when I was six. We named it Kudzu and beat it with shoes, but you could tell it loved all kinds of attention. I’ll bet ostriches are like that.