Sunday, September 2, 2007


A bat flew into my sunroof and tried to kill me the other day. It's not everyday that a bat attacks you in your own car... or, if it is, you may have more serious problems than I.

I should have felt this coming, in some cosmic sort of way (like people who forget names easily can be sure they will be introduced to twenty people at a gathering of ten... "Oh, hey Todd" "it's Becky, dumbass!"). It all started several nights ago, while driving home at night with my sunroof open and windows down. I was accosted by something that resembled a flying roach yet had the girth of a small land animal. This "creature" (creature here meaning "man-eating bug") flew, plummeted, or otherwise found it's way into my passenger window and proceeded to attempt an escape through my windshield with little success. This, in itself, is probably not remarkable. What occured from here forward may be. This large buglike imposter then did the following:

1. Hovered resiliently in front of my face
2. Selected several possible targets
3. Flew into my mouth

I know what you are thinking... my mouth was open, and all men forgive me for admitting this, in part due to stunned amazement and part yelp. Either way, I ended up with more protein in my diet than I was looking for and nearly wrecked. I did survive this incident by spitting out the attacker who, with great confidence, proceeded to exit through my sunroof with no apparant damage and some complimentary saliva. I could have sworn he sneired at me. Yes.... I saw lips.

Now... you may be wondering why I would drive with my sunroof open and windows down after such an incident. If you figure it out, let me know because several nights later, under similar circumstances, the bat attack occured.

I initially considered lying and stating that the bat attacked by breaking through a side window or squeezing through an air vent. However, upon further consideration, these both sounded obsurd and would match my life all too well. Ater recovering from the prior incident, which I had chalked up as bizarre, yet understandable, since I drive mostly country roads at night on my way home from work ("work" here really meaning "free money for time served" but we'll get into that later) I decided it was a lone incident. Little did I know that this flying ground mole from the other night was simply sent in for recon to see if the bat could safely approach. Don't laugh it off until you've been attacked, ok!

The bat entered, having the benefit of the recon efforts of it's flying forerunner, through the sunroof. I believe that the first visitor learned that coming in through the side window created too much turbulence, thus advising the bat to come from the top down. The major defect in this thinking was this: people panic more when a bat flies in their car than when a large bug flies in their car. Having only recently been through a similar war I began having a brief series of flashbacks. Thoughts ran through my mind, such as:

1. Bat
2. Rabies
3. Did I shut my computer down when leaving tonight?

With deft precision and quick reflexes I did absolutely nothing. This confused my attacker who, obviously forgetting the information provided by his predicessor, attempted to escape through the windshield. Stunned, he/she/it bounced back toward me and collapsed on my chest. Exhausted from my lack of effort I quickly pulled off to the side of the road, the beast hanging by one claw from my seatbelt (Virginia! It's The Law! Buckleup).

When faced with a preditor, albeit small, strapped to your chest in the dark your mind tends to overthink the situation. The bat was NOT moving, but I could FEEL it just BEING alive somehow regardless of the windshield induced concussion. I struggled with the several choices available as I sat, parked, on the narrow side of a county road with NO lighting.

1. Push it off onto the floor and hope it was too dead to bite. Yes... too dead vs. mostly dead vice actually dead.
2. Unlatch the seatbelt and hope that the bat was launched out the driver side window due to velocity.
3. Flail.
D. All of the above.

I went with D and ended up with me standing in the road, the bat lying on my driver seat, and the occasional passing car honking at the idiot in the road. It was, indeed, quite dead.

I bagged the beast in a Walmart bag from the passenger area (who doesn't have one of these trusty friends! Walmart has it all: groceries, shoes, bicycle helmets and extremely low wages with resulting service.) and proceeded home to tell my story to my supportive, loving, and understanding family.

"A bat!" my son said excitedly when I held out the bag excitedly and opened it for viewing like the great hunter I was.

"Wow," pause "sure is tiny." With this, the dismissal of my greatest battle, I end this blog entry. Without the proper respect of my peers (not to mention my 9-year-old son) I ended this horrific experience the only way I could.

"Yeah," I acknowledge in the proper light, "pretty small."