An Open Letter To The Pigeon Who Pooped On My Head

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Open Letter

Dear Pigeon Who Relieved Itself On My Head,

My scalp is not your toilet! Do you have any idea what it’s like to have have some good morning mojo going, to be steps away from arriving to work ON TIME (I’m not a morning person) only to be shit on by a winged rat? It sucks. I was rounding the corner to my office building, listening to Astral Weeks by Van Morrison, trying to feel a vague sense of well-being and spiritual connectedness when you dropped your load on my head. I prayed that the warm mess in my hair was just a big raindrop. But it was not raining. I put my finger in it and my nightmare came true. I ran into the nearest deli with a shit smear on my finger. I rode the elevator with your pigeon-y poop on my hand. People looked at me. I’m sure they smelled me. Or should I say, YOU.

I know it’s supposed to be good luck when a pigeon shits on you, but I don’t feel lucky. I feel just the opposite. When you pooped on me, I was suddenly very clear that universe was conspiring against me, to make sure my day was a piece of crap. Any shred of positivity I was about to tackle my day with is gone. And this didn’t just affect me. I made Amelia come to the bathroom and clean it off my head, threatening to go home if she didn’t. I was reduced to sitting on a trash can while she did so. We were both trying not to vomit. These are moments which can’t be unexperienced. I feel small and insignificant in this world. I feel unattractive, and self-conscious that I reek of bird shit. I have to walk around for the rest of the day feeling dirty — and not in the Christina Aguilera, extra-R kind of way. So I hope you’re happy, Pigeon. I hope you’re flying free and easy with your empty bowels while I walk around feeling gross. You are probably off partying with Mike Tyson, you smug asshole. On the upside, I now have a legitimate reason to be in a bad mood today. So, begrudgingly, thanks for that.

GFY,

Ami Poop Head Angelowicz

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