Everyone has their own special little random thing that seems to happen only to them. Mine happens to be odd experiences with bird crap. I will illustrate with two stories.
The first one happened just this past Friday. I was out and about "working from home" on Friday afternoon, running some errands, and I stopped at Marshall's to browse through the home decor stuff. I'm still putting the finishing touches on my remodel, so I stop by once a week to see what new stuff they've put out on the shelves. I bought a few things and returned to my car. I opened the door, and BOOM! There on the driver's seat was a massive streak of bird turd. I had left the moonroof open - which is just the flip-up kind, not a full on sunroof. A bird had landed on my car, hopped in through the flipped-up moonroof, flew around inside the car and pooped on my seat. At this point in my life I can only laugh when things like that happen.
The second event happened a couple of years ago. I was on a road trip up in San Francisco and we were down at the pier to get some clam chowder in a sourdough bowl. Mind you, this is Pier 39 in San Francisco. There are approximately 27 billion people there at any given moment, so the chances of anything extraordinary happening specifically to you are on the order of winning the lottery. It was a hot, sunny afternoon and I had on a pair of skater-style sunglasses (the type that fit really close to your face). I was walking along, minding my own business, and passed this flock of pigeons that a thousand other people had just walked past. For some reason, they got spooked as I walked past and several of them took of in flight. One of the birds flew over the top of me and dropped a bomb. You're probably thinking that it hit my head or my shoulder, and you would be wrong! This pigeon was no ordinary pigeon. This was the Michael Jordan of pigeons. He was a sharpshooter. A sniper. His little gift to me was precisely timed and aimed with his flying in one direction and my walking in another so that it fell right through the quarter-inch gap between my sunglasses and forehead and hit my squarely in the eye. I couldn't believe it. In my eye.
I really should have gone straight to the liquor store and bought a lotto ticket that day... and had the birds poop on the numbers that I should pick.
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My mom grew up in California, and so they ate lunch outside at tables. Well, she'd been sitting at the table with her legs around the posts a little bit, and then saw some sea-gulls getting ready to bomb them. She ended up falling out onto her back with her legs cranked off to the side against her friend's hip to avoid the missile.
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