On my way into to work today a bird pooped inside my car. That’s right INSIDE MY CAR. It was beautiful morning so I had my window rolled all the way down and was busy jamming out to Cyndi Lauper when he must have squirted (ew I know) his fecal matter into my beautiful 2002 Chevy Cavalier. Based on the size and consistency of the poo I believe the bird was either a pigeon or a large American bald eagle. On closer inspection of this bird crime scene I realized some of it splashed onto the sleeve of my NEW WHITE SHIRT. I was trying to understand how all this was possible. What angle was this bird at that he managed to get this into my car? I don’t think John Nash could understand the physics of it all. I thought in the past I made it perfectly clear to Mother Nature that birds and I were just friends and here they were trying to bring our relationship to an intimate and new level by pooping on me. I started rapidly going through the five stages of grief.
Denial- “Ya know what maybe that’s not really bird poop. I think it actually might just be a smooshed Ho-Ho. Mmmm Ho-Ho’s”
Anger - “J’accuse! I vow vengence on that bird. I will hunt down him and his entire family Elmer Fudd mafia style. Maybe his wife will wake up tomorrow morning with an owl’s head in her nest. Just sayin’!”
Bargaining - “Fuck you bird!” I skipped bargaining and stayed on anger.
Depression - I stifled back a sob and thought about throwing myself dramatically on the hood of my car and screaming, “I miss my clean car and shirt! Life will never be as good as it was before this!”
Acceptance- Maybe I’ll walk past somebody today and they’ll be like “My God what are you wearing? It’s wonderful!” and I’ll turn to them in slow motion (preferably with a wind machine in the background) and say “Oh that? I’m wearing Bird Shit for Calvin Klein” Than I’ll wink and turn to walk away and fall down a flight of stairs.