by Tiffany Sewell

Created on: November 12, 2009

Death by a Ford

"Heavenly father, we would like to thank you for blessing us with this beautiful meal today, shared by all of our friends and family. We are thankful for the warm fire burning in our stove, the strong roof above our heads, and for this delicious turkey upon our table, and my Ford pickup truck that helped me get it...Amen! Let's eat!"

The farmer began to dig into the food- the cranberry sauce, the stuffing, the green bean casserole, and oh yes, that delicious, golden turkey. And guess what. That delicious golden turkey- well, that's me. That's right. This is not how I would have expected myself to end up. But let's rewind to how I came about to be the main course on this Thanksgiving day.

It was three days earlier, and I was off to work as usual at seven a.m. sharp. I had been working for the temp agency for years now. I took pride in my job, for to me, it was quite the important job title that I held- temporary road-crosser. I was the guy that was called in when the chicken called in sick. You know the old saying, "Why did the chicken cross the road..." Well, when the chicken calls in sick, that's where I come in. So why does the chicken cross the road? If you ask me, he doesn't, the turkey does. Anyways, as I was saying, I was off to work as usual, at seven a.m. sharp. I normally would walk to work, but today was different. The job I had to go to today was all the way across town, causing me to have to take the bus.

I was sitting at the city bus stop, minding my own business, when all of a sudden some turkey walks up and sits down beside me. He was acting all nervous, you see, feathers flying everywhere, legs quivering and all. I scooted over ever so subtly on the bench, to try to distance myself from him without him noticing, but I guess that would have been too easy.

"Why you scooting away from me, turkey?" he asked nervously.

"Um, well, I wasn't," I said, "I was just trying to find a warmer spot on the bench."

His eyes seemed to bulge a little when I said this, and I flinched a little in fright. He continued to stare at me nervously, bouncing his knee, extending his neck, eyes bulging, feathers flying, and I wasn't sure where to look.

"Why the hell does he keep on staring at me like this?" I thought to myself. I pretended to be very interested in the bus route booklet that I was holding in my hand. Finally, the nervous turkey spoke again.

"Aren't you scared?" he said.

"Well, a little," I said, thinking he was asking if I was scared of him,

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