I got crapped on by a seagull today.
It was right near the Legislature, so my first reaction was to wonder if John Horgan had finally got fed up with my schtick and was hurling mouldy clumps of Hansard transcripts at me.
But no, it was just one of our local winged trash screechers, expelling its waste onto my noggin, pant leg, and shirt.
People will tell you that’s good luck. We all know that’s a lie.
The old superstition that avian fecal matter brings fortune was probably concocted by a mother desperately trying to comfort a freshly dunked-on child. And that child was, and still is…the guy inside Big Bird.
Okay, that’s definitely not true, but neither is it true that a bird’s digestive tract is a determining factor in your chances of winning the lottery.
So there I was, with seagull scat smeared stupendously on myself, with nothing to show for it but a grim comfort that I was riding my bicycle with my helmet on. It was a low bar, but I had avoided becoming a Radagast the Brown cosplay.
At least, my brain tried to rationalize, you didn’t get it in your hair.
Yes, like beloved bird character Falco, I had to say: “I guess I should be thankful.”
I’m an atheist. I mention this because I think when people who are religious, spiritual, or superstitious have something bad happen to them, there’s a deep well to go to. Perhaps it was Jesus’ will that I get crapped on. Maybe I had kicked the bad karma fairy. Or maybe my body thetans needed a purging.
Whatever the case, atheists like me, broadly speaking, can only turn to science. Or in this case, statistics.
Let me tell you folks, there is a veritable cornucopia of Google results for “odds of getting pooped on by a bird.”
I’m happy to share with you that birds crap a PROLIFIC amount, with some species expelling butt blasts every 15 minutes.
Given that tremendous typhoon of turds, and the fact that we live amidst an Alfred Hitchcock’s worth of seagulls, it becomes more and more of an inevitability: it is not a matter of IF the birds will get you, it is WHEN.
For my atheist sensibilities, this experience was as close as I might get to a spiritual epiphany; the realization that there is an astronomical amount of poop out there, working against you.
There’s a kind of power in that; knowing that there will be a day for you in the poop chute of life. You could, perhaps, stay indoors. Wear a helmet. Carry a shotgun and a murderous look in your eye. These are all potentially mitigating efforts against the airborne assault.
But that’s no way to live.
Far better to live life accepting the knowledge that it could crap on you at any moment while enjoying all the clean days in between.
Welcome to Ford on Fridays: a weekly column where Victoria Buzz staff writer Tim Ford offers his thoughts on life, love, and the pursuit of the perfect joke.
This column is for comedic purposes only. Please feel free to send feedback, thoughts, and [constructive] criticisms to tim@victoriabuzz.com.
