Rooster Soup

July 1, 2014

When I was little my family decided to get turkeys.  The male turkey terrorized me for weeks and eventually we ate him.  Though this may not be the most humane thing, I believe I recall feeling justified in eating him.  To this day when I see a turkey I get a fearful flashback of running away from our demon bird.    

There is a rooster near my apartment in Greece that crows very loudly every morning at 5:40.  My alarm is set for 6am.  This 20-minute difference is crucial and incredibly annoying.  Every morning I curse that rooster and his inability to let me sleep until my alarm actually goes off.  It’s as if he’s doing in on purpose – he knows just how to piss off all of us excavation students.  That last 20 minutes of sleep can make all the difference – whether you awake to the lovely tone of your alarm or you’re jolted awake by his damn squawking outside your window.  Every morning I wake up to this and think “rooster soup.”  Dear rooster, never mess with a sleep deprived archaeologist who knows how to use a pickaxe.  Your days are numbered.