For the Birds

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Birds have rained feces upon me three times in 2015.

All three times have happened during the workday, and all three times I have cleaned it off and went right back to work (quite the scene if you must know).

The first incident occurred in January when while on a short break from a long day of meetings, a little bird decided that I made the perfect spot for which to aim from a power line above.

The second targeting happened in February while at a rare outdoor lunch with coworkers in San Antonio’s Main Plaza. Despite my heightened vigilance, a bird assailed me from the canopy that was designed to protect us from the sun. A stranger noticed my newly acquired gift when we were walking back to the office.

The THIRD precision strike took place at a coworker’s birthday lunch in May. She chose a restaurant that had outdoor seating. As we battled armies of flies, oppressive humidity and terrible service, a generous bird made sure I had more than leftovers to take back to the office.

Why does this matter now? Why am I sharing this story with you today, many days after the most recent of these avian bombings?

Recently, a coworker approached me to tell me that they had noticed an enormous scratch on the passenger door of my car. I decided to go check it out. A separate coworker came along.

On the way out a Mockingbird harassed us because she has a nest in a nearby tree and is not fond of passersby. Upon entering the parking garage, we employed our tried and true tactics for dodging the pigeon poo on the floor, and the eager pigeons above.

We arrived at my car. We saw the scratch, only it seemed more like a scuff. There was only one way to determine the cosmetic damage I had on my hands.

We let our guard down, but I didn’t trust the situation. I envisioned the pigeons mobilizing, or the Mockingbird maneuvering for just the right moment.

I looked away for just a moment and my coworker decided to assess the scratch in detail. He touched the scratch. It flaked.

The pigeons cooed. The Mockingbird mocked. It wasn’t a scratch.

It was bird crap! It was spread at highway speeds to have many of the visual properties of a scratch! A cold sweat engulfed me. I was one second away from another stealth bird strike. And my coworker? Well, he needed to wash his hands.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am sharing this story with you because all of it is true. I am sharing it because this happened to me and because it could happen to you.

Learn from my story. Share it with your loved ones so that they can learn from it as well. Above all, keep your head up.

On second thought, don’t.

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