So a while back I mentioned how my father told me that catching a pigeon meant it had to give you three wishes.
I wish it were actually that simple and beneficial. Everybody would be chasing after the pigeons if that was true. I mean, more than they usually do. As it turns out -- but let me tell you the story.
So I'm walking up Fifth Ave, right, near the Met, and there's a big ol' flock of pigeons around this one lady at a bench throwing them seed. And I think, hey, Dad told me I could get three whole wishes from a pigeon. Time to grab me a pigeon while they're distracted. So I creep up on them -- in plain sight with people passing by me, but it's New York, everybody minds their own business -- and I lunge and I actually manage to snag one as the flock is getting away.
So now I've got a pigeon in my hands -- and the lady on the bench is glaring at me, but forget about her -- and I'm like, "Alright, birdbrain, gimme three wishes. I want a diamond engagement ring, and a big Rolex watch, and -- "
And the pigeon says, "Wait, now, hold on there, kid, I don't know why you think you can get three whole wishes out of me. I'm only required to give you one thing."
And I'm like "Alright, so maybe give me the power to --"
And the pigeon is like "Wait, now, hold on there, it has to be something a pigeon could reasonably get you."
I'm getting pretty annoyed by this point. So I'm like "Are there any other obnoxious limitations on this thing?"
And the pigeon says "Well, if you abuse our generosity too much, we'll remember you."
"Great, so I'll have your enmity for like a month?"
"Well, maybe, but if the crows get wind of the matter then you're in serious trouble."
He's right, of course. I knew a guy who threw a rock at a crow and now he's got crows dropping pebbles on his head whenever he steps outside. I don't feel sorry for him, he killed my pet rock one time. "Alright, so as long as the crows don't hear about this..." But then I look at the lady on the bench, who is now talking to a crow. And I'm like "Alright, pigeon, I wish you could save me from the crows, because I'm about to be in trouble." And I let the pigeon go, preparing to high-tail it to the nearest manhole, because I just wished for something few people can guarantee anwyay.
Only, as I'm heading for the street I hear a vast thrumming of wings behind me, and there's a bigger flock of pigeons than I've ever seen, heading right for me. Before I can even scream they've got their feet on me and they're lifting me up off the ground, up -- not very much up, unfortunately, I found myself narrowly clearing street lights and shop signs as countless birds flew me down the road. And I'm like, "Where the hell are you all even taking me?"
And one of the pigeons says "Well, if we throw you into the harbor, the crows can't get you there can they?"
And then I hear the call of thousands of birds above, all saying: Uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh.
And I'm like "Of course they can get me in the harbor, you morons! Those are fish crows!"
And one of the pigeons is like "Hey, are you guys fish crows?"
Uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh.
"Well there you go, kid, they said they aren't fish crows. To the harbor!"
And so I find myself suddenly falling down towards the water -- only to hear the vast thrum of wings in my ears again, and a great cacaphony of uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh and be caught up by many sharper claws, that nick my ear, pull my hair, scratch my neck -- surely I haven't done anything that bad to crows? But I guess someone thinks I did, because here we are, rising higher and higher, past the face of the Statue of Liberty (and she doesn't even wink at me this time, I must have disappointed her), past the torch, upwards towards the low grey clouds -- and I wonder where exactly we're going. Maybe to some kind of cloud kingdom.
And then I remember that a group of crows is called a murder.
And the crows let go.
Now at this point, I bet you're wondering if I survived. Well, let me tell you my friends, I --
--got caught out of the air by a certain friend of mine flapping her big green cloak-wings.
One of many reasons I keep her around. How she puts up with me, though, that's a long story. Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you're going to catch a pigeon, don't wish for anything bigger than a quarter.