And I didn't shout. Or scream. Or flip a finger at old feather-face. I just stood there and got hysterical. Yes, I couldn't stop laughing - which felt fun - but in the back of my mind, I remembered reading that hysterical laughter over small things - is not a good sign. I repeat, not a good sign.
With my hand on my head, I walked into the bank, and in between uncontrollable giggles, I said to one of the bankers that "a bird just crapped on my head at the ATM, and I NEED A KLEENEX NOW." Then she started laughing, too, pretty loudly for a banker in a gray suit.
She handed me a stack of paper towels, and I wiped myself off with as much dignity as I could muster, and when I left the bank I started to cry on Spring Street. That is when I knew that what I had remembered was right - and I was DEFINITELY out of whack, a little soft in the head, a basket case.
The bird was a metaphor for my life.
For those of you who read my last post, you know that last week I still didn't know when and if I would be moving into my new loft. There was a management switch over - and I had gotten caught in the switch. No screenplay writer or Vegas bookie could have even dreamed up the scenario.
By Monday of this week there was some progress, the new management company had finally received my lease and rent check from the old management company, but I still didn't know when the place would be ready for me to move into. Which meant I could not call the DWP, the cable company, the movers, the housecleaning service, and on and on.
Basically my life was on hold with a LOFT MOVE hanging over my head. VERY STRESSFUL.
It was on Tuesday that old feather-face got me - representing all that was crappola in my life. I mean, even a bird understood that things were just not right.
But by some magic karma - on Wednesday - I found out that my loft would be ready by Friday. The refrigerator would be in, the place cleaned, I could get the keys and move in over the weekend. These new management guys were actually nice to me on the phone. I guess they felt my pain.
And later that day, a friend, who once lived in Italy, told me that Italians believe a bird crapping on your head means "good fortune." So maybe I am lucky. Or not.