If You Want To Make An Omelet. .

Snail mail at my job is pretty minimal; we rarely receive anything but paperwork. So when a co-worker dropped a large box off at my cube today, I knew it could only mean one thing– my stalker had struck again. And that means chickens. Lots and lots of chickens.

When I worked downtown I had a the “Extraordinary Chickens” calendar pinned on my cube wall. It’s filled with (spoiler alert) ornate portraits of chickens, and held a certain inexplicable fascination for the office population. People would detour past my desk on the first of the month just to check out and discuss each new bird in detail. They sure loved those chickens. I was a VIP, man.

At some point it was decided the calendar meant I was Official Keeper of the Chickens, because I started receiving anonymous pictures of fancy fowl in the inter-office mail. Sometimes they were shiny chickens cut out of magazines, sometimes they were special occasion chickens on greeting cards, and every so often I’d receive an actual physical representation of a chicken (my boss was very clear that if any live chickens appeared, we would have a problem). On my birthday I found chickens taped all over my desk, stuck into random files, and hidden in drawers. I was still finding them for months afterward.

Naturally, the Chicken of the Month Club was very intrigued. We were on high alert for a chicken drop and when anything surfaced a crowd of excited bird watchers would form around my desk to discuss possible clues. Who was that masked man, anyway?!

Unlike everyone else, I wasn’t super interested in uncovering the identity of my Secret Birdmirer(s). The whole thing was too hilarious. The person buying poultry magazines and doing art projects for was clearly way into this game, which made me way into it, so why would I want to win when I could keep playing?

The chicken incidents eventually slowed down. Maybe because the original rate of delivery was unsustainable, or maybe because how many professional photos of chickens can possibly exist? I’d still get a tickler every few months, something to remind me not to forget the Secret Birdmirer who clearly had not forgotten me. The chickens even followed me when I moved to a different office about year ago. They still take me, and my new co-workers, completely by surprise each and every time.

Which brings us back to today, and the big mystery box sitting at my desk. Even though I hadn’t gotten any chicken stuff in a while and couldn’t have told you exactly what would be inside it, I was still pretty suspicious. I mean, what else could it possibly be?

This is what I found inside.

Secret Birdmirer, you are the best stalker ever. (Also, please don’t murder me.)

This entry was posted in Confessions and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to If You Want To Make An Omelet. .

  1. judy shapiro says:

    A little scary, in a fowl sort of way….

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