So you guys, did you see that hot girl walking down Grant Street this morning and that pigeon just came out of nowhere, swooped down and flew straight for her face until she freaked out? Did ya? Yeah, that was me.
This morning, say 8:10 a.m. (I was running late), I’m minding my own business debating if I want to contribute to the GNP by purchasing a Green Tea Frap when out of nowhere the pigeon from [heck] appears about 20 yards in front of me, eye level, flying straight at me.
Surely this stupid (or superduper smart) bird is going to pull up, right? I mean, it is a bird. They are programmed for self-preservation, including the specific instruction NOT to ram into humans while flying.
Not this pigeon. No, this pigeon is flying straight at my face and I am trying to play it cool in my new pink summer sweater and my cool sunglasses. I’m thinking, “Pull up you stupid pigeon. Pull up. Now. Okay, now! PULL UP FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Okay, I verbalized that last part as I realized this pigeon was WAY better at chicken than I was.
And I’m pretty sure had I not flipped the hell out, you would now be reading an article about the hot chick that had to be rushed to the hospital after being found lying on the sidewalk in front of Fifth Third Bank with a dead pigeon impaled in her forehead.
I hate pigeons, and NOT because one pooped on me once and made a homeless man make fun of me. I just hate any bird that has absolutely no people-fear whatsover. I have seen pigeons play games of chicken on Liberty, quietly munching on a thrown Big Mac while cars and buses careen around them. I like my birds to fly the hell away in fear the second they see me twitch.
I mean, I’m pretty sure that one day a pigeon is going to just walk up to me and say, “Hey baby, you got a quarter for the bus?”
Then I’m moving outta here.