At work, since it's an old folks home and they like these sorts of things, there is a bird atrium. It's lovely, the residents love looking at the *pretty* birds and everything is just hunky dorey dandy.
Until you ask yourself the simple question, who has to clean the lovely bird home full of shite and feathers? I think you know the answer to that one. Once I week I risk the possibility of loose birds (never happened) and getting shat on (happened once) just so that appearances are kept up.
This week, going along as usual. Nothing is wrong, clean a few windows, look around again and suddenly...... uh ooh, man down! We have a dead bird in the cage. Poke poke. Is it really dead? That would be an affirmative. Oh well, grab a paper towel and pike up the poor, dead birdy and into the trash it goes.
Later on that day..... I tell Mr. Boss Man about the bird and he starts freaking out. Apparently, if an adult bird dies they need to keep the corpse for evidence. Evidence for what I do not know. Luckily, I had yet to empty out my garbage so I had the lovely task of digging trough dirty you-don't-want-to-know in order to find the birdy.
Enough said, bird found, bird given to slightly strange boss, peace, out.
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