Bird Brain

Happy Memorial Day.

That's right—that's no exclamation, simply a declaration long delayed by bad traffic and droves of mallshoppers. I'm lucky 'happy' is even in my vocabulary this time of night on a day like today.

As bad as work can be, it's always brightened by Ted. Our exchange today was brief but beautiful as he stopped by during our busiest moments. All I had time for was a quick hi-five and hurried plans to meet for a drink after my shift. It gave me something to look forward to, though I'm not sure if that's a good which or a bad witch. Which it is depends on whether you think Zeno's gettin' where he's goin' or not, I guess.

Later on, after work, I got there eventually. Ted and I met at the taco stand and got in line. He was all up in arms about his new apartment, wouldn't shut up bitching long enough for me to get an horchata in straw-wise. I asked him to calm down and handed him his milky drink. I asked him to explain things to me slowly. He says,

I was taking a shit and got shat upon.

I took a moment to process this delightful thought (I was not momat upon, thank God!) and then verified that Ted did in fact live on the top floor of his complex. So who shat upon ye if ye be livin on th'top floor? I asked in my worst brogue.

It wasn't a who, he says, It was an it!

What it? Then I lost my train of thought, 'which it?'

And then over meaty, crisp tacos Ted laid it all out for me: Birds were the it. Ted, like most everyone living among civilized, indoor-plumbed societies, had an open-air vent leading from his bathroom ceiling directly to the roof. This opening was cowled to prevent rainy precipitation from entering the commode, though it seems the cowl left enough room for fowl precipitation. Foul precipitation. Looking for some private shade, pigeons were using Ted's bathroom's vent/cowl arrangement as their own little single-occupant outhouse.

Folklorically birds have deadly aim with their waste, so it occurred to Ted that he could just leave the seat up and hope for the best. Turds out the line of sight was just off though, and the <allit meme="Sylvester J. Pussycat, Sr." rating="PG-13">shitter's shitter was splendidly shat upon.</allit> Beside that, curious cats (he has 3 right now) don't need any extra invitation to close inspection of bathroom porcelain. The situation was bad enough without having to wash a toilet-drenched bird-shat-upon cat. Ted just put down a towel and called his landlord.

Meantime, shits had to be shat. The repair was going to take a few days, so Ted tried to work around the target area. Creative stances and perilous positions were attempted when making a deposit. These almost never worked. After a couple uncomfortable, spattered dumps Ted recalled that he was smarter than a pigeon, bigger than a pigeon, and could pretty much boss those little fuckers around. From then on the hard part for Ted was explaining to his neighbors all the hooting and applause whenever he used the bathroom.

I told Ted through a mouthful of taco that he should probably get a cover for his truck.

This Ted, he vibrates?

Boy, work was a long day today. I can never get to sleep properly on Monday nights, and I have to be in early early Tuesday mornings. I was late today, which always puts me in a mood, and it just so happens there was a metric buttload of new releases to shelve and sticker and so forth.

Luckily, Ted showed up to entertain me around mid-morning, about ready to explode with excitement. He's been keeping track on the calendar for the release of Airwolf season 3, and blew right by my What's up, yo? to find it. Six toppled tweens and one disturbed elderly mall-walker later he had it in his hand, visibly thrumming with excitement.

He asked me if I knew why he was so excited, and I speculated that it was because he could go home now and watch more Airwolf. I was only partially right. Shifting from foot to foot like he had to take a leak, Ted informed me that originally for season 3 the writers of Airwolf penned dialog for the helicopter. As Ted took a moment to catch his breath, I ventured that it must be very much like Kitt (of Knight Rider fame, of course), and asked if the helicopter had a name or a scanning blue light or some such. The withering look Ted gave me was enough to tell me I was dead wrong. Don't be silly, he went on, helicopters can't talk. Cars can't either, for that matter. Knight Rider is dumb, he opined.

No, Ted informed me that the dialog was written but never spoken, never even broadcast to the show's original TV audience. Further demonstrating the greatness of television on DVD, this new release is the only way one can access Airwolf helicopter dialog, as a subtitle track. Ted was all worked up, bouncing and stuttering through the checkout and out the door. As he left I told him he might as well watch a foreign movie, and could I maybe borrow that sometime?

Communication

Today Ted got an email from his sister. It was nice to hear from her, he says. She told him about how she'd moved out of their mother's house recently and pitched up for a place of her own. Well, the first part of that is true, I know, but the second half is pure speculation. She could be living anywhere now. Ted wouldn't be the wiser.

Anyhow, Ted's sister is pissed that Ted hasn't called her in months. It's funny that he's afraid to call her when she's so angry. He says it's no fun talking to someone on a lambasting trip, even over the phone. I told him if he didn't call her then I would, and ask her out on a date. I'm into lambasting.

Ted grumbled something that sounded like ...both ways and got out his phone.

PS -> I bought this account for like 10 bucks last month. Is that even legal in Australia? Point being, I couldn't bring myself to just lop off the, uh, creative output of its previous owner, so that follows. It's in my name, but I didn't write it. No offense if you don't care to read it all. I understand.