🐦️ That's Not Rain
[ca. 1990]
As a late teen, I enjoyed trying to learn how to skateboard and do tricks and stuff. It's a skill that I, to this day, have never acquired. But I kept trying. (To be clear, I'm no longer trying.)
At the time, I worked at Pizza Hut (at 729 Colusa Avenue, Yuba City—now a Harbor Freight) as a "cook", if so noble a title can possibly be applied. And this meant that we spent a fair amount of time at the Pizza Hut establishment, even after hours.
And Pizza Hut had a brilliantly-smooth parking lot.
We were out there one night having a grand time. I was trying to ollie and generally failing, getting frustrated, etc. The sky was pitch black owing to the excessive illumination the parking lot lights provided.
I'd skate at low speed, position my feet, get ready, and then somehow I'd fail to kick and both feet would just rise off the board at the same time while it stayed firmly in place on the ground. Great.
Suddenly it started to rain.
What the hell? This wasn't a winter night. And this was the Central Valley in California—there's no rain. And yet here we were, hearing the until-today unmistakable snap of large summer raindrops pattering the dry, sealed asphalt.
Now, Yuba City is situated in full-on agricultural country. The soil is rich and the water is plentiful. In fact, the entire northern Central Valley is basically a bunch of wetlands turned into farmland. It's really an incredible feat of engineering that steers the water through Northern California. You should look it up sometime.
But not everything was turned to farmland. There are a large number of expansive wildlife refuges interspersed between the surrounding farms that are host to literally millions of birds along their migratory routes. I think you see where this is going.
"That's not rain! It's shit!" This expression, in all its teenage eloquence, is indelibly imprinted in my memory—though I'm no longer certain who uttered it. It might have been me.
We ran for it, headed for the awning in front of the Pizza Hut building. Bird crap hailed down on all sides as we bolted for cover, ducking as we ran.
Once there, we turned to witness the carnage that had been our skating area, now presented in the full glory of black and white.
On the whole, we were lucky. My jacket had a splotch that persisted for some time; other than that we made it out basically unscathed.
But I'll never trust summer rain again.