Headless Chickens and Romanian Seinfeld

In high school I spent one month in Romania working in an orphanage. During my time there I worked regularly in a soup kitchen but was commissioned, one day, to go with my friend Rachel to pluck headless chickens on a Romanian farm.

When we arrived at the farm, we were greeted by a dusty yard full of farmers with knives. I turned the corner just as one of them dropped a chicken and it ran headless into the fence - over and over again until it twitched in a pile on the ground.

My job was to remove the blood clots from the necks while Rachel made sure all the feathers were off of the outside.

As I am reading this, it sounds a little disturbing. Then I remember I eat chicken every week. Duh.

After the chickens were plucked, they were gutted and handed to me to remove the clots. They kept every part of the chicken and the guts were used for soup. Yum.

I can't remember how long we worked in that small room that was lit by kerosene lamps but we were at the farm for at least half of the day. There were few things on the property that hinted that the farm made it into the 20th century.

I was reminded though that this was 2000 when we were waiting for our ride back to the orphanage. The farmers had invited us into their home and the television was stationed in the center of the room under an enormous antenna. Rachel and I were surrounded by silent Romanians who were transfixed on the television screen.

A Seinfeld episode was playing and Jerry and George had been discussing something inconsequential. The Romanian translation scrolled on the bottom of the screen when, to the amazement of the farmers in the room, someone in the episode mentioned Eastern Europe. As soon as the words fell out of the character's mouth every Romanian who was present shouted and jumped up out of their seats in joy. It startled me.

I guess they were excited that people in the West know that they exist in the 21st century.

P.S. There was fresh chicken bones and meat in the soup the next day. I was proud.

Cops - Whatcha Gonna Do?

What is it about the television show Cops that intrigues the crap out of me? I can't get enough of it. I try to look away but the screen is like a magnet.

The show consists of police officers dressed in blue arguing with either buck toothed hillbillies or inner city thugs with pants on the ground, pants on the ground...

I live in Orlando where crime seems to be the hobby of a disproportionate part of the population. My husband and I are frequently reminded of this fact. On more than one occasion we have been awakened because a helicopter is flying low over our house and shining its lights in our yard in search of a criminal.


Cops Scenario

Cop pulls out a small knife.

Cop: "Why is this in your purse?"

Female Redhead: "I use it for fishin'."

Cop pulls out a hammer.

Cop: "Why is this in your truck?"

Female Redhead: "It's my favorite hammer."

Cop pulls a pipe out of redhead's pocket.

Cop: "There's a pipe in your pocket."

Female Redhead: "It's not mine."

Cop places handcuffs on woman.

Female Redhead: "I was lookin' for my dog and since you cuffed me I don't have no dog no more."


Really? It's not mine? I don't have no dog because you handcuffed me? If that wasn't a sign that the pipe was the redheads, I don't know what is.

This reminded me of when I taught three-year-old kids and I asked one of them if he had been playing in the bathroom. He said, "no," while the soap was dripping off the walls and his forehead. Some of us never grow up.

This television show is a half-hour-long life lesson. I won't ever forget what I learn. No one wants to loose a dog because of handcuffs.