Well Well Well

So random things keep happening that keep things interesting. take the other day. I walk to the back, and see a conversation going on between two people... So naturally I include myself. It turns out there are some complaints about birds nesting in a display shed out front. Nesting was one issue. But the birds fighting off people that come near it, was another issue. Apparently its a pretty bad issue. After checking on the severity of the problem a store manager was seen attempting to fight them off with a clipboard the day before. Now on the most recent trip a department manager ended up running for his life to get away. Ahem. Its decided something has to be done. This is of course why I include myself.

I suggest that we all stop being pussy's, knock out the nest, and start crackin' bird skulls. There is no agreement. The conversation stops at my comment. I'm reminded the birds have "sharp pointy things" that they attack with and, worse yet, "they really hurt." I remind them, we are men, they are birds. They want a more diplomatic resolution. But it's decided I should come with, just in case. I ask whats the plan, and there isn't a clear answer. So, "we're talking to them?" No reply. They continue to scavenge for heavy leather gloves, sturdy clipboards, a drywall square, and other maneuverable--- yet blunt objects. I sit on the desk and take this all in. I'm laughing. Hearty, sadistic laughter. I wouldn't think it to be serious, but here we are; three grown men, and two of them are donning make shift armor and weapons, like 4 year olds on the playground. I collect myself, "you guys are going in pretty heavy to talk to birds," and I ask plainly what everyone else is going to think of this; hinting at the fact that we have to pass through the entire store... the entire store filled with customers, into the parking lot, full of customers. No one looks at me. They are breaking out the grease pens and going Braveheart on me.

Not nearly soon enough, I coax them out from their armory, and forward toward the dragons. I ask King Arthur, if I should prepare his sword and shield, and gesture towards broom handles and garbage can lids. There is finally a sense of laughter. It seems forced. I take the first one I see, but it steadily makes me more uncomfortable about the situation. As we near the front of the store; I ask again what the point is... "So, this is like the mob movies... All we're going to do is talk to 'em"... The looming truth untold, just like in the movies is; someone is going to get killed.

As we breach the doors, the meeting is ready, I can see that. Our show of force has brought out a similar flex of muscle. Circling over the shed in question, are now 3 angry birds. I nod at them, "looks like they came for a fight." I'm told that the birds have sharp beaks, and are crazed. Yes, I know they are armed. But so are we. But so what, we're just going to talk to them. Thats all. Just talk.

We approach with the Boss first, who is greeted by the first move... a dive bomb from a bird. Those two scatter, screaming and swinging clipboards around in circles as the other two move in for the kill. I walk into the shed, unnoticed, and shut the door behind me. My guest of honor is seated, squarely in the dark musty loft above me. So much for the movies, I guess. I make small talk at first, unsure of how these things should go down--- that is, except for in the movies. But amid the shrieks and rustling papers, I know my time is limited.

"I don't think you understood us, when we said we never wanted to see your face in this town again... I represent some persuasive people, and you didn't listen to what they had to say. They thought, maybe you would listen to someone like me." The reaction from the roost is a chilling silence. No movement. Not a flinch. Just a blank stare back at me. I move a folding chair closer between us. "It seems to me, you had a good thing going. But things gotta end. My associates gave you an option; one you didn't want to take. They asked nicely. They asked me to be nice. " I lower the broom handle in their direction, and measure my gaze. "But they ain't here now, are they?"

OH GOD! THAT ONE GOT ME. -thud, thump, the door shakes behind me-

So it was the silence that stayed, unbroken, but it was the gaze and posture that shifted to the door behind me that drew my response, too fast for them to realize the mistake. Fuck talking.

No one heard their screams. There were too many going on outside. Too much noise for anyone else to notice me, having my way with these punks. With the fluff and twigs flying, maybe I lost it. Maybe, I enjoyed it too much. This 'conversation' was all me. But like that, it was over. A smear on the wall. The spray dripped down the wall, to a mess in the corner. And only me, looming large, stood then. One egg, one nest, down. Lost to a war of words.

Feeling quite mob-like, I kicked open the door, throwing the broom behind me, and quickly walked out into the street. The fear in their eyes told my story, without a spoken word. 'Holy shit, what happened?' With a sneer, I stopped, looked them in the eyes like a murder should, and said "I talked to them."

So we walked briskly back the building cheering and happy, with a bird still rampaging around the air. Mourning what we took for granted. Stupid sparrows. They should have got out a long time ago.