Forget Squirrels. Birds Aren't Cute Either.

On my way to the office this morning, a bird - a very large, sick, city bird - pooped on me.  I like to think this because the only other possibility is that someone took a cup of their liquid poop and poured it outside their window as I sauntered by.  This explanation is entirely plausible because people are crazy, but too disturbing to contemplate so I'm going to go the avian route.  On the concrete square of sidewalk where I happened to be as it got me, is a near perfect circle composed of splotchy brown green splats.  It is the saddest geometric figure I have ever seen.

My friendly doorman curiously eyed my figure as I cautiously shuffled my way through the corridor.  "Back already?"  As I got closer, I blurted out, "I think a bird just shat all over me."  Always direct, never classy, this one.  After cautiously noting the apple green spots all around my neck and shirt, he offered, "Hey, that's supposed to be good luck!"  I looked at him and said, "One piece of poop on the forehead makes for a funny story to start your day; a full-on shower sprinkle by a bird with diarrhea is an entirely different story."  And then we both laughed as I uncomfortably cringed from the smell coming from my head and clothes.

I cannot tell you how I managed to suppress my gag reflex.  But I did.  The smell was overwhelming.  But what was worse?  I will tell you: peeling off a shirt spotted with excrement OVER MY HEAD three minutes later in my apartment.