Caught up in a Hitchcock-esque drama

This is a true story.

I wish it wasn’t, because it happened to me and it’s EMBARRASSING!

It took place two years ago and was erased from memory until I was reminded of the horror last week as a gull stood outside my car window demanding a french fry.

I know what you’re thinking. Gulls shouldn’t be eating fries. And neither should I.

Anyway, the impatient gull had the same demeanour as the ones who wanted a piece of me and held me captive in the parking lot at work in 2016.

It had nested on the roof of our building, just outside the boardroom window. People would visit just to look at them and say, “Ahhh.”

The cuteness ended once the eggs hatched and the parents became very, very protective.

They would dive toward people as they crossed the parking lot. WalMart has a happy greeter. We had angry tweeters.

Our gulls shouldn’t be confused with a vile social media abuser who is too afraid to put his/her real name behind archaic and idiotic opinions. Whoops! Not sure where that came from.

Back to our resident gulls. They had swooped toward me a couple of times and I laughed it off. One morning, I rode my motorcycle to work and they got really aggressive.

“Probably because you look like an egghead,” a co-worked quipped. Har-dee-har-har!

At the end of one work day, I left the office and put my motorcycle helmet on as I walked across the parking lot to my 1995 Honda Shadow VLX.

One of the gulls lost it, squealing at a high pitch and coming at me like a Second World War pilot.

It did this relentlessly, over and over, and over and over. Soon, another gull, presumably the daddy or mommy because gulls mate for life, joined the attack.

They refused to let me near the bike, and forced me to take cover in a work vehicle a few feet from my motorcycle.

You see. EMBARASSING!

One bird perched on a light pole above the car.

The other landed on the roof of the work rig.

I wondered what was going on and sat in the driver’s seat bewildered and laughing at the attack. Every time I opened the door, they swooped toward me.

That wore thin after two or three attempts. The humour of the predicament changed to seriousness.

“I have to get home. How am I going to get out of this quickly?”

It was past working hours so there was no one else crossing the parking lot to distract the angry birds.

I refused to call my wife and tell her my predicament. I wouldn’t phone a friend or co-worker either. The potential for ridicule was just too high.

So I waited and waited, probably 29 minutes, until a colleague who works later shifts came out for a smoke break.

I shouted out and told him what was happening.

He pledged to take care of it and started trying to distract the gulls simply by walking across the parking lot.

The birds started diving after him. I hopped out of the rig, jumped on my bike and sped out of the parking lot as quickly as possible.

I was starving upon reaching home and scarfed down dinner (supper, in Newfoundland) like I hadn’t eaten in days.

“Steve, slow down,” my wife said. “No one is going to take it from you.”

Thankfully she didn’t say I was eating like a gull.