Like Birds of a Feather...

It started out just an ordinary day. Get up early. Go get bagels. Open the blinds to let the sunlight in. All of this is pretty typical in the world of Elizabeth. So after enjoying my morning bagel and newspaper, I was all set to take a shower and get ready for yet another meeting with yet another company who still hasn't hired me because employment rates are so low that the job market is incredibly tight and I'm overqualified for some jobs and don't have enough experience for the ones in my field. But I digress.
I'm getting ready to take my shower, only to realize that I've left something vitally in the living room (so important that now I can't even remember what it was)and, assuming that the mailman doesn't want to see my, er, assets on full display at the front window, I decided to grab it before disrobing. But while I was making my way into Living Room #2, I see an object swooping through the air, making its way to Living Room #1, where the aformentioned object is located.
Obviously thinking on my feet, I squeal hysterically and throw myself into my bedroom.
"SteVon? STEVON??! There's a BIRD in the living room!"
"I know. It's been there since last night," is the calm reply.
Now, I don't know about the rest of you all, but little brown sparrows are very sweet when you seem them in the sun-kissed trees on a summer afternoon, but in your HOUSE?! Not so much.
Not knowing what to do, I hid in my room in terror of a living creature the size of my palm. I called Rolf first.
"Babe? Are you at work? I have a slight problem."
"What's going on?"
"....There's a bird in my apartment."
Laughter. That's all I get. Followed with: "Guess you'll have to find a way to get it out."

Well, thanks for your help. Glad to know you'll take care of me in times of need.

Into the bathroom I went, but not before spending 5 minutes mustering the courage to take the one step (literally) from my bedroom to the bathroom to shower.
All was going well at first. I had scouted out the bathroom to make sure the bird hadn't entered and so I turned the water on and went on with my normal routine, relieved to be out of harm's way.
Until.
Until a shadow was cast in the room, lasting only for a couple of seconds. Hoping that a bird from outside had gotten close to window, causing a shadow to cast into the room, I ignored the little doubt that was causing my chest to tighten in fear.
Turning off the water, I opened the curtain to grab the towel on the counter, only to be greeted by none other than our little feathered friend. I screamed hysterically and, not knowing what to do next, turned the water back on and spent another ten minutes in the shower. By this point I am shaking more than I thought was humanly possible, and calling out to SteVon:
"SteVon? STEVON?! CAN YOU OPEN THE BATHROOM DOOR SO I CAN ESCAPE?! THE BIRD'S INSIDE!!!"
Either she didn't hear me, or she was silently laughing at my misfortune and was unable to reply. At any rate, I thrust the window open and yelled for the little bird to kindly leave the premises.

Finally, I realized that the landlord would start getting suspicious about an hour-long shower and somehow found the nerve to grab the towel and throw a pair of shorts and sweater on without even leaving the tub.

Now what do I do? What any respectable woman does when the man in her life refuses to help. Call Mom. Because moms are sympathetic, right?

Right?


So I'm whispering, because clearly my roommate either isn't terribly concerned about this poor bird who I can now hear throwing itself into the mini-blinds in the kitchen because it sees the sunlight and wants to make its escape, or she is convulsing into fits of laughter.

"Mom? Mom! I have a problem."
"What is it?"
"There's a bird in my apartment and I can't get it out."
"There's a bird in your apartment? Is your roommate home? What's she doing about it?"
"She's hiding in her room."
"Well, where are you?"
"I'm in my room. And I can't leave. Because it came into the bathroom with me when I was taking a shower."
My horror-filled voice is met with laughter.
"Well, how did the bird get into the bathroom?"
"I think it crawled underneath the door. Oh! I have to go. Laura's calling me."

This is how logical my thinking was in my desperation to take care of the bird situation, because otherwise I would refuse to leave my bedroom and thus having to tell a potentially future employer that I couldn't attend the day's meeting because there was a small bird loose in my apartment and I was terrifed to leave the room.

Anyway. My text to Laura had been, "There's a bird in my apartment. What do I do, mom?"

So she made her way down to my apartment, carrying with her my apartment key, since I absolutely refused to leave my room for fear of another encounter with the bird.

We strategized in my apartment for a few minutes, trying to determine if both the front and back doors needed to be open, and whether newspaper or a broom would be most effective in shooing it out.

I was in, 100%. Yep. I was fully prepared to give Laura all of the support she needed, right from my bedroom. So after making her way to the kitchen, obtaining my broom, and then chasing it into the main living room where the front door is I hear, "It's out! IT'S OUT!"

Much to my relief, Laura had managed to chase the poor bird out. (And I might add that the poor thing would begin flittering about hysterically at the sound of any squeals on our part. It would seem that this animal weighing less than a pound in size was as terrified as us as we were of it.)

Thankful that Mr. Sparrow was no longer careening itself into the blinds, I very generously agreed to take Laura to Nancy's Bagels as a reward. Because nothing beats a friend coming over to take care of your pest problem.