Crustacean Frustration

"Excuse me, ma'am, I think that there is a lobster under your car."

I challenge anyone to find a context for this sentence that would make sense without referencing a Douglas Adams book.

Yet, there I was, getting Shantih and Alexis into the car after a My Little Gym class, that a neighboring mom left her Honda Odyssey running to alert me to the crustacean lurking under my rear right tire. I bent down and looked. Yes, indeed. Red, black mottled body. Two claws. Spindly legs. A nice tail. I surmised to her out loud that it might be a large crawfish. Never having seen a crawfish this was a leap, but it looked a bit small to be a lobster and I've seen many a crawfish sign around here. Granted, the signs advertising crawfish are usually attached to a supermarket or restaurant: "Crawfish by the pound. LIVE! $4.99" or "Boiled Crawfish, ready to eat. $5.99" I've somehow missed the--DRIVE SLOWLY. CRAWFISH CROSSING--signs.

I fetched our steering wheel clamp from the car and extended the bar in an attempt to shift the creature to the middle of the car, so I wouldn't run over it on reversing. It spun around, lowered its tail, and raised its claws. I swear, the thing hissed. Hmmm, not friendly. Of course, any creature endowed with two large claws that have to be rubber banded in captivity is not likely to be the type to scuttle up and say howdy do. I tried again to shift it, but every attempt caused it to wedge itself further against my tire. Understandable I suppose. It felt safer in the shadows.

I got in the car and slowly reversed, trying not to squash him. Why, you may ask. Well, my neighbor who smirked and drove off as I took photos of the moment, proclaimed that she didn't want me to get my tire all dirty. Thanks! But, for me, I felt that any crawfish who was brave enough to end up alone in a suburban parking lot deserved a better fate than to be smooshed by a Suzuki Vitara encrusted with cheerio veneer and fruit snack lacquer.

Where did he come from? Was he washed ashore by the flooding earlier in the week, hiding in the drains until he attempted to make a break for a local creek? Was he packed in a Styrofoam cooler of brethren unexpectedly knocked over before being loaded into a car headed for a home boil? Did he leap out of a restaurant kettle making a narrow escape from being a lunchtime special?

I didn't crush him. Shantih and I waved goodbye as we headed home. However, I doubt that he made it out of the parking lot alive. But at least, I hope, that he met his end under the wheel of a Ford F350 or a Hummer or, at the very least, a Chrysler Town and Country.

RIP