A bird shit on my head today. It was at the bus stop. The shit is black and white. I am on my way to work and—
Drop.
I like my job. I get to teach people. I get to stand in front of a room. I get the attention. Normally, I wouldn’t get attention. Normally, I was nobody.
Drop.
Everybody is a nobody. I accept that. I still like being called “professor.” Even though I am not a full professor. I feel special. I feel like I am flying. Even if it is an illusion.
Drop.
I wish the bird shit was an illusion. I don’t have napkins. I don’t want to bother people on the bus. I don’t want to bother with the shit on my head right now.
Drop.
Birds don’t bother with shit. They shit where they want to. On the ground. On my head. It doesn’t matter. Their shit leaves them. It is far beneath them. But this shit on my head. It’s unavoidable.
Drop.
My hair is curly. The shit isn’t going to come out. It’s going to dry in there. It’s going to crust. My hair’s shape will be formed by the shit. I will literally be a shithead.
Drop.
I am used to shit in my hair. Inconveniences are a regularity for me. An email here. Oh, now seven emails here. All at once. You need to come to this faculty meeting. You didn’t grade my paper. You have one day to take this course offering. It’s in six months from now. You will barely make a living. And forget your free time.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
Maybe birds do bother with shit. It seems they are always chirping. Some must be annoying chirpers. Maybe those annoying chirpers command orders. Stand on this power line. Chirp with this frequency. Shit on that man’s head.
Drop.
I consider myself quite defiant. I know how to stand up for myself. I tell my bosses when I want more courses. Or if I have other plans. Or if I don’t like a policy.
Maybe the shit isn’t so bad. I can wash it out.
And maybe I can do more for myself. Not go for status. Go for appreciation. Make a stand. Tell them who I am. Tell them what I stand for. Even if they don’t care. I will be the one to change the world, the one who makes a difference in thought, a discreet social revolutionist, a martyr of sorts, throw my syllabus on the ground, set it on fire, even.
While slim, there is a chance that I could be a part of something bigger, create an even better life for myself while doing so, no longer be treated like a pleasant luxury, be treated like a necessity that is irreplaceable. I could be valued.
But then again, I feel like I’m valued. I just need to stick through it and—
Drop.
Christian David Loeffler
Christian David Loeffler is a fiction writer, teacher, and editor for Curious Curls Publishing. His work draws heavy inspiration from interests that span science, literature, philosophy, video games, and anime. His favorite book is J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, and he will not stop talking about it.
