Las aventuras del ratón del Domo

On Saturdays I work in the Space Place Dome Theater with Jan, a boomer who is so bubbly and batty, with such eccentric pronunciation, that I haven't ruled out that she might actually be in an evil coven such as the ones you're always seeing in Satanic granny media.* Jan was doing the star identification intro at the console, and I was sitting on the floor in the corner enjoying my tea.

JAN: ... Orion, Canis Major ...
SOMETHING IN THE SHADOWS UNDER THE CONSOLE: *wiggle*
ME: ?
JAN: ... Leo, rɛdʒʊlʊs ...
MOUSE: hi
ME: *internally* Well, well, well. It appears the maintenance guy's email about rodents in the building is out of date! They have reached the Dome!
MOUSE: eep! a human! *scamper*

And that's how I met our resident varmint!

[after the show]
ME: So, there's a mouse.
JAN: A MOUSE?!
ME: It was skittering around down here.
ME: *pointing flashlight* It went under the console.
JAN: A LIVE MOUSE?!
ME: I already texted our maintenance guy.
ME: Gonna go down and let the supervisors know, and grab some supplies
JAN: *SHRIEK*
ME: *running back up the stairs* WHAT? Are you okay?
JAN: *pointing dramatically* THERE IT IS!
MOUSE: you guys have the best audience, you know that? they sneak food in here all the time and drop it on the floor, probably for me! ♥️
ME: Gonna put on my rubber gloves
ME: In case I get astronomically lucky
MOUSE: well i can see i'm no longer welcome here, bye!
MOUSE: *disappears down one of our cable-conduit pipes like fuckin Mario*

So I told the supervisor, and the custodian,** because what the hell was I planning to do with the rubber gloves, and the supervisor got a trap and marched up to the console to set it up. Jan held her flashlight, and they both crouched way under the console desk to examine the mouse's warp pipe.

MOUSE: can i help you?
JAN: EEEEEK!

And then, in her haste to get away, Jan proceeded to whack her head on the underside of the console desk, and the supervisor scrambled back on all fours and ran screaming from the dome.

The rest of the day was a tense psychological thriller as Jan sat with her feet up in her office chair, fretting about The Mouse's whereabouts and her flowy pants and "open-toed shoes," which were some definition of "open-toed" that was beyond me, on account of being close-toed, and periodically checking under the console with her flashlight and shrieking when the mouse would poke its head out of its warp pipe.

ME: Don't put your head under the desk again, okay? I'm not sure if I could tell if you had a concussion
JAN: I'm gonna go home and change into mouse-proof clothes on my break.
ME: I doubt the mouse is gonna wind up in your shoes or pants, but I hate anxiety, and if changing will help alleviate yours, then go for it.

I didn't want to laugh, because phobic reactions like that are involuntary and unpleasant, and lord knows I have phobic reactions to dumb shit, too.*** But I also have this core-deep sense that every phobia is kind of absurd, so it did strike me kinda funny.

Anyway, Jan got through her shift unsqueaked, and took off for home, and I was there waiting for the next presenter to come in, vacuuming and grumbling about the absolute goddamn slobs our patrons are. Seriously, we don't allow popcorn in the Dome. Why is it everywhere? Do they trail it in like comets' tails? WHY DO WE SELL POPCORN.

NEXT-SHIFT COWORKER: Hey.
ME: Hey. So we're probably going to regret this conversation, but are you afraid of mice?


*I even caught her listening to Mötley Crüe, which I hear is Of The Devil!

JAN: With the music I listen to, you would never guess I'm a senior citizen, would you?
ME: I dunno, aren't most of the band members senior citizens by now?

**Custodian has taken it upon himself to help me practice my Spanish. He was very proud of me for my casual "Hay un ratón en el domo."

***You chew on ONE BALLOON with your tiny sharp toddler teeth and suddenly you've got a lifelong anxiety. Limbic systems are idiots.