Fine NYC morning. 7:45am, 88 degrees, 93% humidity. I make the short walk to the Doubletree where I'm scheduled to present. I'm early, so I peer through the corner cafe windows, looking to grab a bagel and a cheapo coffee in one of those paper cups with the flimsy fold-out handles.
I'm startled by what sounds like water landing on hard pavement after being squirted upward from a garden hose. Then realization hits. I've been tagged. My upper back, right arm, and a bit on my front pocket has suddenly grown bas-relief strokes of semi-liquid; the color of play-dough after all the reds, blues, yellows, and oranges are mixed together. Judging by the liquid volume, it was either a pigeon that has ingested an entire tin of planters nuts, or a small turkey buzzard that did the deed.
I dash into the nearest hotel to use the restroom. As luck would have it, I needed to use the elavator to get there. Normally, I would be mildly insulted by the folks that vacated the elevator on my account, but I didn't care. Yoo, lookin' at me, Mr. and Mrs. Tourist? That's right. That's bird ^%$#, yo you want somma this? Welcome to NYC.
At any rate, the stains didn't come out, despite vigorous scrubbing. More funny looks from tourists. One European man even looked like he wanted to take my picture... To close out this little anecdote, I end up rummaging at a tacky souvenir shop for the least offensive shirt I could find, and ended up presenting in that.