Picture it: Sunday afternoon, the "mixed use" center where I both earn and spend my money. I am ostensibly working. However, it's oddly slow. So, as usual, I am floating between the Tuscan Italian joint, the movie theatre and the little shop around the corner. On my walk, I meet a little girl. Her name is Naaza, which is Farsi for precious. She absolutely lived up to her name. She's showing me her headbands. They're jeweled. Then, we're playing counting games. She has two headbands. We both also have two eyes, two ears, two lips, two arms and two legs. She wants to feed the pigeons. I hate the damn pigeons. They're rats with wings. But, I am also inclined to amuse this little girl, because it's certainly more fun than standing around. Her dad is standing just behind us, and her mommy and grandma are sitting to left us, on the Tuscan Italian joint's patio. We're crumbling bread and throwing it to these three pigeons. Yes, we counted the vermin, too. The rats with wings are inching ever closer. They're greedy little bastards. One of them is even making his wings big, to keep the other two away. The little girl is oblivious to this. She names them. "This one's the daddy, this one's the mommy, and that one's the grandma." She has named them after her own family unit. How goddamned cute is that? She walks toward the patio, to tell her mommy and grandma which pigeon is which. I walk toward my wine bar, so I can check my one table. As I am at table 21, I see a B.M.W. whip around the corner in front of That One Mexican Restaurant so fast, it hops the curb. What an ass. Then, I turn back towards Tuscan Italian joint, to see the pigeon the little girl had dubbed "Mommy" twitching. Hit by the B.M.W. And I don't mean like, it looked like it was sleeping. It was so gross. There were entrails, y'all! Faaza's family is at the table, and she's ready to cruise back to the pigeons. She is blissfully unaware that one of her pigeons is a former pigeon. I block her view. I look at her dad, and say "let me go find security to handle this."
I go around That One Mexican Restaurant, and see the rent-a-cop in his golf cart. I walk briskly towards him. I don't know his name, so I'm just yelling "hey! security!" He speeds away. As much as one can speed in a golf cart. I go back inside our restaurant, and do the only thing I can think to do. I interrupt the head of security , who is on a date and with friends, at table 13. I tap him on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, but I have a situation and really need you." He excuses himself from his guests, and comes outside with me. I point at the former pigeon and say "will you please call whoever is supposed to handle these things? I tried to get one of the guys in a golf cart, but he didn't stop when I chased him. I'm so sorry for interrupting you." He whips out his cell phone/walkie talkie thingy. He summons the guy in a golf cart. I am horrified that we're looking at pigeon guts. The little girl, Naaza, is no longer distracted. She now wants to go pet the "sleeping pigeon" I take her hand, and lead her inside Tuscan Italian joint. We go into the bar area. She wants to blow out all the tealights. I let her. Then, we're analyzing the $28,000 painting, made with belts and old jackets. True story. The damn thing costs more than my car, and it's hideous.
While we're playing in the bar area, the head of security decides to spare everyone else the horror show that is the B.M.W.-ally disemboweled thing, covers it with a black napkin, from the Tuscan Italian joints patio. The wind almost immediately blows it away. He covers it back up. I am watching all of this from the bar area. My view is 100% unobstructed. I go back outside. The golf cart guy arrives, and hops out of his cart, clutching a handful of paper towels. Hope they're Bounty, guy. You're gonna need a bigger boat. I cannot watch this. I go back inside my own place of employment. I wait for the golf cart to pull away. It does so a few moments later. I go back outside. They dumped a cup of water on the spot. That's how they cleaned it. I am once again horrified.
I poured a pitcher of water on the spot, and then I tried to not be angry that someone killed a living thing, even a nasty as all get out pigeon, and never bothered to even slow down.