The pigeons! The pigeons!
It’s always when I least expect it that the crazies strike.
Standing in line with my can of wild diet cherry Pepsi and vanilla Pria bar in the crowded mini-mart at UC, I was thinking of peppermint pigs and alpacas when the man behind me cleared his throat.
“Excuse me,” he said, and then in the same intonation as if he were asking me the weather. “Have you ever seen a flock of pigeons that think they can scare you?”
I turned around, coming face-to-face with a rather sporty looking guy, perhaps in his mid-20s or so. Wearing a UC Bearcats shirt and hat, he looked very much like the kind of boy I’d normally avoid and who’d normally avoid me: the Bearcat rah rah tootin’ frat boy whose greatest accomplishment is that he can bong a beer in 30 seconds.
At a loss for what to say in this situation I nodded and smiled, mentally granting him the label “creepy guy.” I suppose I, too, have earned an equally unfortunate label many times in the past and so feigned mild interest.
“No,” I said. “Have you??
“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes growing wide. He stepped closer towards me with a very serious look on his face.
“In Dayton. A bunch of em’ swooped down. It was like The Birds or something,” he said and laughed haltingly.
After a chaotic day at the office coupled with a feminist theory class, my mind was as sharp as a tack dragged along the asphalt for a few miles. I was still digesting the image of attack pigeons when he went on.
“I swear,” he continued. “I think every mean person in Cincinnati is reincarnated as a pigeon.”
I briefly considered engaging him in further conversation about killer reincarnated pigeons, but my freak radar blipped furiously and I held my tongue. After having learned (painfully in some instances) to start taking subtle warnings from the cosmos, I yanked in my conversation welcome mat and stepped up to the counter to pay.
Creepy guy continued muttering as I began walking away and I felt an obligation to offer a conclusion to the weird passage I had costarred in.
“Umm… Beware of the pigeons,” I called.
“Yeah,” he said, with a toothy grin. “You too.”
Filed under The Weird, Personal | Comment (1)Alpaca fever
What the hell is an alpaca?
That was my first thought as I drove past the brick structure holding a sign announcing the residence to be a farm of the mysterious alpaca.
A cursory internet search revealed an animal looking very much like the love child of a camel, llama and poodle ménage a trois.
Located in one of my smaller reporting communities that could easily double as Mayberry, I eagerly contacted the farm to do a story on them. Several days later, I received an email from a separate alpaca farm in the region advertising a farm tour of 8 different alpaca farms. Apparently, there are 20 or so in the greater Cincinnati area alone.
I had never even heard of an alpaca before last week and suddenly it’s mad alpaca fever.
I went out yesterday to two local farms, armed with my bag of bribery carrots. Alpacas must be the most retarded looking creatures ever. They offer the only proof to the christian big bang theory for it’s as if evolution totally passed them by.
But, they’re also very sweet and docile and when they look at you with those big alien eyes framed by to-die-for lashes, you can’t help but have the sudden and intense urge to become an alpaca farmer too.