Pigeons. They’re weird little creatures, really. Orange eyes, missing toes, scrunched beaks. And they always look like they’re doing The Bangles “Walk Like An Egyptian” dance. I think that’s why they amuse me so much—I always want to walk like an Egyptian, but for some reason I feel like that dance has become socially unacceptable to do in public, like most things from the ‘80s…kind of like shoulder pads. And picking wedgies.
Apparently pigeons love salt and vinegar chips, though. I found that out accidentally this morning. It was like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Scary.
I threw a little chip to one fat old pigeon on the ground in front of me because he looked so hungry and confused. Then I broke up another one and threw it because he was having problems with the big one….and then, all of a sudden, it’s like I cued the mass exodus of pigeon from across the park to my bench. I was just thinking, “UHH… ohhhh. Uh-oh. Hi, birds.” I totally had enough to go around, but I just wanted to feed the first little dude. He was my fave.
Most of the other pigeons weren’t so bad, though. But there was one in particular that I was getting bad vibes from at the get-go. …selfish little git. (street cred!) The worst part was he could run faster than all the other pigeons. I have seriously never seen a pigeon book it that fast in my life. I would throw a chip to one of the other pigeons all the way across the group and he would somehow make it over there in time to steal the whole damn thing before any of the others had any chance at all. So sad.
I then devised a plan. Shout! Like the song, only just the one word. I thought this was like the most brilliant plan ever. (Yes, I can see you rolling your eyes now). I pictured scattering pigeons and the return of the one little guy I had grown close to over the last 10 minutes. We truly had a connection.
So I shouted. *groan of dispair* This is where ol’ Alfred comes in: The birds swarmed me, knocking the chips out of my hands and gouging out my glass eye with their vicious beaks. Of course they were being led by the evil pigeon of stealth and speed with beady red eyes and biker tats covering the one leg he had that wasn’t made of wood. Soon I was a trembling pile of helpless victim on the side of the street where they dragged me with their beaks of pure steel.
None of that happened, as you might’ve guessed.
But they all did walk toward after I let out my sad little shout, freaking me out a little momentarily. Then some guy dropped a piece of bread for one pigeon, not unlike my first single chip, and all 8 of my pigeon pack scrambled over to him. Sucker!
As it turns out, I really don’t like birds much after all. -Archi