The stork shows up for work, maybe a little hung over, definitely hating his job. He wants to quit, but there is no retirement plan in the reproductive system, so he continues on, grumbling and feeling not so quietly put out.
There are long conveyer belts of babies all wrapped in familiar blankets of pink and blue.
The foreman near the conveyer belt is smoking a cigarette.
‘Bout time you showed up. Here, take this one. You’re on the pink line today, headed to the east coast. This one is sensitive so put her down some place nice.
The stork hates the sensitive ones. They’re way too much work. He could fly around for days looking for the right drop without compensation, just a, What took you so long? look from his sweaty over-weight jerk of a boss.
Fine, he says grabbing the bundle in his beak. I’m off.
And so he starts the long trip to New York, all the time thinking about how much he hates his life, his job, and his foreman. In fact, he does nothing but think about it until his little stork brain is a mass of nasty dark negative little stork thoughts. Then he gets an idea. There is no quality control at the plant, just a roll of the eyes, a turned down mouth, or a ‘you’re a hopeless stork’ shake of the head. The light goes on. Why should he flap his wings through miles of crappy weather to please them? What’s the point? The sooner this trip is over, the sooner he can crack open a cold one, and put his feet up where they belong.
What the heck! I’m just gonna drop this sucker right now, right in the middle of nowhere, right into this……….Oops. That’ll be a rough go. Little premature drop there. Oh well, good luck kid. Not my problem.
And so I was born.