Recently, I found myself taking a lovely mid-afternoon stroll down Commonwealth Avenue. I was wearing shoes, pants and a crimson shirt — everything seemed normal. My hair looked great, I felt great and the world was great. All that took a sudden turn for the God-awful, however, when I stepped on a living, cooing pigeon.
I had been looking up at the beautiful sky at the moment of contact, and I’m pretty sure the plump, gray pigeon had been looking down at a piece of fossilized gum, perhaps thinking about a recent pigeon breakup that ended on a sour note, or whether or not he was going to eat the gum. Whatever the pigeon was thinking, he was not paying attention to what was coming — my huge foot, in this case.
It was a normal step: One foot in front of the other, with slightly more weight on the right. I did not move my foot out of its rhythmic stroll to aim for said pigeon or anything like that. I didn’t see him, and when my foot strucketh the pigeon’s back, it was as if World War III started — if World War III isn’t a serious war and is only waged between my foot and a pigeon.
When I stepped on the pigeon, I screamed in fright – terrible “I want my Mommy” fright. The pigeon, having been stepped on by a human foot, screamed even louder, releasing a slew of pigeon expletives. Nearby, a pregnant woman witnessed the incident; she found herself so surprised by our screams that she birthed the child right in front of Shaw’s. Realizing she just popped out a baby on a crowded sidewalk, she screamed as well. After the baby hit the ground, surveyed his surroundings and noticed he was born on a crowded sidewalk, he screamed (it was a boy!). A woman handing out pro-life pamphlets in front of the Planned Parenthood saw the baby pop out, screamed and ran inside the Planned Parenthood seeking help and advice. A crowded T saw the pigeon-stepping and the baby-birthing and the T flipped over in surprise, landing on an empty Boston University Police Department car. The police officer, walking out of the Dunkin’ Donuts, saw his car get smashed by the T. He screamed and dropped his coffee and maple bar. He achingly looked down at the mess he created. He screamed again, this time with a flood of tears. Needless to say, things quickly got out of hand.
Man is not meant to step on pigeons. Pigeons are not meant to fall asunderneath man’s foot. These are two laws of nature set in stone, or at the very least written on paper somewhere, probably in a book called something like Pigeons, Feet and Stepping on Pigeons with Thy Feet. If Newton stepped on a pigeon instead of getting hit by that apple, my, how different physics would surely be . . .
When you step on a pigeon, or any living, moving creature, your first reaction is to scream and jump away. Feeling movement under your foot isn’t natural. You think earthquake, snake, giant slug, fish (if you’re underwater taking a stroll) — all scary things. The feeling is akin to when you walk into a spider web. You yell, “Spider!” and proceed to run around shaking yourself and flailing your arms around like a chicken. You don’t care what you look like when you do this, you just don’t want a freakin’ spider crawling around and taking a fat bite out of your neck. So when I stepped on the pigeon, I screamed and shook like a madman (perhaps my erratic movements are to blame for the woman’s sudden birthing of child).
Now no one would call a pigeon an agile creature. Oftentimes they are fat and remind me of one of my uncle, who is also fat but has no wings. As fat as pigeons may be, however, they always manage to get out of the way of people and their feet. Ever try to catch a pigeon? I have. And let me tell you, those suckers are tough to catch, no matter how hungry you are.
Therefore, I would never in a million years expect to step on top of a pigeon. I felt confused, bewildered and befuddled. More than anything, however, I felt embarrassed. Not for me — for the pigeon. I’m pretty sure I didn’t hurt the little guy, but some of his pigeon friends saw the whole thing, and I can only imagine the crap they gave him afterward. Pigeons never let themselves get stepped on — they would rather fly, and they hate flying. My guess is that this pigeon was the dumbest pigeon around. His pigeon friends only hang out with him to watch him get stepped on. So if you ever step on a pigeon in Boston, remember: He’s probably the same stupid pigeon everyone steps on, so give him a break. Oh, and asunderneath isn’t a real word.
Zack Poitras, a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at zpoitras@bu.edu.
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