Shat Full of Luck

18 Oct

One of my dreams just came true.

I was shat on by a bird.

Yes. After 21 years of hoping and wishing, a bird finally deemed me worthy enough to open its bowels onto my head.

Let’s set the scene.

I had just finished volunteering at a BU Parents’ Weekend reception event, during which I was supposed to walk around and strike up conversations with parents and their new-to-BU freshmen.

As luck would have it, every group of “inquisitive parents” and their “scared, intimidated freshmen” that I approached ended up being a group of disgruntled, uninterested parents and their seasoned juniors, who study things like “chemistry” and “accounting” and who are concerned about things like “the future,” and “jobs” and “building a strong network.”

Juniors. At an event for freshmen. I swear I’m a metal detector for the unlikely.

A father of one ambitious student asked me, “What does your future entail?”

To which I responded, “Well, probably a Sam Adams, but I don’t like to commit myself to one type of drink this early in the evening.”

Another parent wondered, “How do Liberal Arts students find jobs?”

In response to which I answered the slightly different yet totally valid question of, “How well do liberal artists sport bobs?” The parent looked confused but enlightened, which is how I aim to leave all parents with whom I engage.

A third parent asked me where the restrooms were located, which I could totally answer! I’m convinced this “parent” was really just someone who was paid to ask me a freebie so I wouldn’t embarrass the BU community.

Basically, every conversation that was supposed to involve me giving sound, wise advice to a confused youth turned into parents rubbing my arm, saying, “It’s okay, sweetie, chin up!” and then offering me the free cookies they had been planning to take back to their hotel rooms because I “looked like I needed them more.” (Which I chose to interpret as them saying I looked malnourished and frail, and thus needed to consume a lot more refined carbs.)

Reverse therapy sessions and molasses chews are what I’ve come to expect from my Friday afternoons.

Actually, once I discovered there were free cookies at the event, things really started looking up. All it took was one of the caterers saying, “Please take some cookies, we don’t want leftovers,” for me to stack three plates with cookies, shove them into my purse, stack two more plates, and then carry them out while mumbling something about “sugar deprivation” and the injustice of having really liberal sugar-haters for parents.

(Not true. Liberal, yes, in that they let me watch the Titanic sex scene at the age of four. But, the “sugar-haters” accusation is a lie that I use to justify every irresponsible thing I do. People pity things like that. Even French professors, BU administrators, and – if you’re lucky – the occasional police officer.)

Armed with enough cookies (and a few miniature sandwiches) to feed myself over the next hour, I headed for home.
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On the way home, I saw an old friend who told me he’d just landed a major, full-time, big dollah-dollah-paying job for the next year!

To this friend, I said, “WELL DONE! That really is an exciting feat!” Which I totally meant.

To myself, I said, “Don’t get tears of panic on your cookies, nobody likes a soggy chocolate chip.”

(Which is also true of life. If you don’t think your friend group has a Soggy Chocolate Chip, then you are the Soggy Chocolate Chip – or the SCC, for short. The homeopathic cure for SCC Syndrome is a pedicure, a Melissa McCarthy comedy, and a hunk of chocolate chip cookie dough…because the best way to get over something is to face that something in abundant, American-sized quantities.)

After parting ways with my friend, I approached the entrance of my building and felt something land on my head. Once I ruled out a nymph or the Tooth Fairy or human feces, I realized it was probably…

BIRD SHIT.

My window reflection proved my theory. I had been shat on. By an actual, living, breathing bird.

OH, HAPPY DAY.

I immediately broke out into a coy little smile and started chuckling to myself.

Now, if you came across a girl who was holding a door open with her foot, carrying two plates of clearly “liberated” food, and giggling about having shit in her hair, what would you think? If your answer was, “Wow, she could star in her own sitcom,” then you are an perfect human and I would like to be your friend. (If not, then that’s totally okay, I’m sorry for offending you, please keep reading my blog.)

The reason I was so excited about Shitfest 2014 is that bird poop is good luck! Like losing a toenail to an unfortunate skiing accident, or having a head of grey hair by the age of twelve, or getting thrown up on by a six-year-old kid on a whale watching boat, bird poop is a sign of wonderful things to come.

Where’s my evidence? Well, one time, my sister got rained on by a bird and my parents took us to ice cream after.

The correlation is clear, I’d say.

So perhaps this is a sign of things to come? Perhaps Mindy Kaling will suddenly become desperate for an intern whose names – first and last – begin with “S” and who can steal food from any situation?

Or perhaps President Obama will need someone to MC a dinner party and will send out a college-wide search party looking for “Senior students who know how to locate their school’s restrooms at a moment’s notice.” (I’ll be studying a lot for that contest.)

At the very least, a tiny section of my hair is moisturized and I have a plate full (plus three others) of cookies to eat today.

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What, you expected me to shower?

NOT A CHANCE.

Photo: http://m.1023jackfm.com/tag/bird-poop/

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One Response to “Shat Full of Luck”

  1. thisthatandtheotherthang October 19, 2014 at 3:21 am #

    Haha! You are too cute, my dear! And I’d even go as far as saying that that bird shat was so chock-full of luck that it premonitioned said luck by showering you with unlimited amounts of cookies. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all 🙂

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