Splat

Chuck was a very important man. He wasn’t some loser who worked a cash register at a grocery store. Chuck worked at the bank and made decisions every single day that affected people’s lives. He deserved something nice in his downtime.

Chuck’s nice thing was his car. A classic car as old as he was, and with curves better than his wife’s had ever been. Chuck loved that car. Every weekend he’d wash it, then go for a drive around town.

But every weekend, birds would crap on his windshield. No sooner than he’d finished washing the car, as he passed under the trees at the end of the driveway: splat. Every weekend.

Chuck deserved something nice. A drive around town in a nice, clean classic car was not too much to ask. These birds were ruining it, and had been for months.

Finally, Chuck bought a pellet gun and waited beneath the trees.

He couldn’t see them up there. Every now and then, he’d fire at some movement, but he couldn’t be sure. He was quickly running out of pellets and patience, but finally, after a shot, a bird fell dead into the driveway.

Chuck laughed to himself. “That’ll show them!” The others would be scared now! They’d be gone after that!

The next day was sunny and clear. Chuck washed his beautiful car and began his drive. Then: splat.

He fumed as he took his relaxing drive around town. The pellets weren’t enough. The trees had to go.

Buying the loudest chainsaw he could find, Chuck cut down every tree in his yard, not just the ones by the driveway. He laughed again, cackled really.

“They’ll be gone now!” He spent the evening feeding the trees into a wood chipper. They had to be gone now! They were homeless! Chuck woke up to his newly empty yard, washed his car, and went for a perfect drive. There was no crap on his windshield and everyone he passed was sure to recognize what a beautiful car Chuck owned. Chuck loved every minute of it.

The next weekend, he went back to his car to wash it again and found bird crap already on the windshield. He muttered and cursed, but at least he hadn’t washed it yet. He took his sponge and began to wipe, but it did nothing. It took Chuck a moment to realize, the crap was on the inside of the windshield.

Chuck checked inside the car. He looked under the car. He stared into the sky, then looked back into the crap.

Chuck deserved nice things, so he got a nice new house far away from the old one. He sold his car and never thought about birds again.

Patrick D Ryall, the D is for Process

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