A month or so ago, I was having lunch out with a friend, at an outdoor cafe.  Pigeons were fearless flying all about where the patrons were eating.  I got nailed by bird shit on my jacket and my pants.  It didn’t dampen my appetite, although I took off my jacket and covered my pants completely with multiple napkins.  Luckily, I had a spare change of clothes in the office.  I am not sure I have worn those clothes again.  I told the story to some, many of whom responded that this was a sign of good luck.  Yeah, good luck for person who didn’t get nailed because I did.

Today, at the same cafe, I had lunch with two colleagues.  Indoors, this time.  As we left the cafe, a pigeon flew under the outside umbrellas and nicked me on the head.  I touched my head instinctively.  Then I realized that all the diseases the pigeon carries were not only in my hair but now on my hand. I thought about running to the nearest hospital to get that hose-down you see on TV when some is exposed to radioactive substances.  I thought about getting a haircut.  I also considered having my hand amputated.  All in the name of good hygiene.

But by the time I resolved to do this list of things, my entire body became a petri dish of pre-apocalyptic germ warfare, as well as the source material for Dustin Hoffman’s comeback in “Outbreak II”.

Nope, I was doomed.  So, what else to do? I went back to work.  But I washed my hands so well that they are raw.  And since no one was touching my hair, I think humanity, and the lawyers in my office, are safe for now.

Pigeons in New York are getting more confrontational with humans.  Think Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”.  If only I resembled Tippi Hedren (what is with that first name?).   That would be some comfort.

Pigeons.  Probably once a great and noble species.  Now, not so much.