My boss, Jami, was probably the coolest boss in the world. She was funny, outgoing, hardworking, and nice. Being nice is a quality I admire after having done office work with a woman who hated smiling (Yes, Leslie, I'm talking about you).
Jami drove two and a half hours every weekend from LA to run the wine bar. It would've been nothing without her. Her personality brought the saloon to life--unfortunately she brought things to life that should've been left alone as well.
On one of her first weekends in the saloon, while getting accustomed to the rural atmosphere, she was preparing the bar. She realized she hadn't taken out the trash, even though she thought she'd done it the night before. She reached down into the trashcan and awoke a possum that had snuck in during the night. It woke with a fright and bit her.
She screamed so loud that she burst a blood vessel in her eye. A kitchen worker ran out and trapped the possum, and my boss had to close the bar to go to the hospital.
When recounting the horrible ordeal, she said she hadn't noticed it because it was "playing possum".