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Maybe Big Bird Took a Job in Maintenance?

The office I work at has a back door. Out the back door, there’s a set of four concrete steps leading to the street. And on those stairs… is a trail of splotchy black and white and yellow gunk of some kind. It intrigues me.

Well, mainly, it sickens me — at least when I’m walking on it. But also — it intrigues me.

See, it’s almost certainly bird poop. Which is not so intriguing, generally speaking. I find my interest piqued by all sorts of ridiculous nonsense, but pigeon droppings are not usually on the list. But this — this is poop of a different feather, so to speak.

The thing is, this poop is slathered — nay, nay, caked on three of the steps behind the office. The stairs are thick with the stuff — filthy with fine feathered feces, if you will.

(No? You won’t? How about ‘dipped in dollops of dodo doodoo’? Ooh, or ‘crazy with crusty cuckoo kaka’? Right. I thought not. Moving on, then.)

So, three steps just lousy with the stuff. The other step, and the landing, and the sidewalk beyond? Nothing. That’s what intrigues me — I can’t quite figure out what’s going on out there. I’ve never seen anyone sitting out there, feeding the birds. And quite frankly, it’s not really that sort of neighborhood. Come to think of it, it’s not that kind of office, either. I can see people hanging out back strangling birds, maybe, or playing a nice game of ‘pigeon soccer’, but that’s about it. And maybe that sort of thing would knock the shit out the birds — but I wouldn’t expect it to be so centralized. You’d think there’d be bird doo and feathers and beaks and other assorted parts scattered all around. But it’s not.

There’s nothing above the crap-encrusted spot that looks like a nest, either. Or a perch, or even a high-traffic flying lane, as far as I can tell. I don’t spend a lot of time swooping over alleyways, admittedly, so I’m not particularly an expert. But if there’s some draw there for the birdies, I’m not seeing it.

That leaves the possibility that the local flying fauna are targeting those steps somehow. Which is impressive, in its own way — have you ever tried shitting on a bullseye, while flapping around at fifteen miles an hour over it? Well, I have.

(Yeah, don’t ask. I was in college. we had one of those tire swings, we were drunk, somebody bet me… it wasn’t pleasant. I still get a little upset tummy when I see a steel-belted radial. Bleh.)

Anyway, the point is — it’s hard, dammit. And if the birds aren’t standing on those three steps and shitting, then they’re fricking bombarding them from above. And I’d like to know why. And more importantly for me — since I walk on those steps at least once or twice a day — I’d sure as hell like to know when. It’s bad enough walking on those slimy stairs; I’m not interested in being caught in a poopstorm on the way to my desk. I have plenty enough of those of the virtual variety as it is, thank you very much.