UPCLOSE AND PERSONAL: The Nerd's Unpleasant Walk

I'm a fast walker. As long as I'm wearing flats, people can't keep up with me. I become antsy if I can't walk fast, hence I always have walking shoes on hand. My best friend and I went on a Caribbean cruise together last winter and she couldn't understand why I wouldn't slow down. She even confronted me at one point and said the following words very, very slowly (I paraphrase, of course):

"Listen Sabila. I understand that you have to walk very fast at work because working in Manhattan is fast-paced. But look around us. We are NOT in Manhattan. We are in the Caribbean. We are on vacation. Vacations are supposed to be relaxed. So slow the hell down."

There might have been some explitives thrown in there but I am censoring for you dear reader.
Anyway, the point is, I walk fast, oblivious to my surroundings most of the time, with only my destination in mind. Today, when I left the office after a nearly 10 hour workday, I was determined to reach the PATH station as quickly as possible.
So, I was flying down the sidewalk, full force forward, not aware of much around me other than the fact that it was freakin' freezing. I didn't even have to stop for traffic; I was either getting walk signs or no traffic at all where the light was green. Three blocks before the PATH station, I was blessed with another walk sign and was happily minding my own business, walking along, when my left foot landed in something squishy. It almost felt like I'd stepped into a squished banana.

Whatever was fruit doing in the middle of the street, I wondered to myself as I looked down and,

OH MY DEAR GOD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD ON HIS EARTH,

I saw that what I had stepped in was not fruit at all.

I'd stepped in a pigeon.
Yes, readers, the nerd stepped on roadkill in Manhattan.

I whimpered into my scarf the rest of the way, slowing down to wipe the sole of my left boot on the sidewalk with every step I took.

And, to top things off, being the animal rights activist that I am, unlike most tri-state area residents, I happen to like pigeons. I even have a newspaper cutout of pigeons taped to my office door (my colleagues who are reading this, drop by and see it with your own two eyes. Unlike James Frey, I speak the truth).

Suffice to say, I died a little on the inside when I stepped on that flattened and bloody pigeon. Once I was standing on the PATH platform, I mustered the courage to see if there was...ahem...pigeon...on the bottom of my boot. I nearly squealed as I picked my foot off the ground to check. I'm relieved to announce that there was no blood, guts or feathers on the bottom of my boot.

However, I still made sure to remove the left boot before stepping into my apartment and disinfected it later that night.

This is my life.
Welcome.

ps: I used a photo of pigeons flying against a blue sky to commemorate the life of that poor pigeon. Let's remember the pigeon for how he/she lived and not how he/she died.

I'm so serious it's not even funny.