#2 Can Sometimes be #1?

Spaniards have a sort of campaign, propaganda if you will, to excuse an obscene social norm. Although Spanish cities are marvelous, gorgeous, picturesque, you have a 100% probability of encountering some sort of excrement in the streets, conveniently placed right where you are about to step. To prevent a riot from the foreigners, the belief goes that if you accidently have contact with this monstrosity, you will have great luck for the entire day (in effect, you should buy a lottery ticket).

One fateful day, I should not have even left the house. I am always extremely cautious to not step in dog poop, but I should have looked to the sky (or maybe not, because it would have then landed on my face). You guessed it, a bird pooped in my hair on the way to school—fantastic. Class, and then immediate shower—was not even worth the while. That evening, I went to tapas with some friends, and on my way home, another white droplet of luck hit my poor Tom’s (pair of shoes). I was at the point of screaming—why do not they have guns in Spain? I would have eliminated the entire bird population in one night.

If it had not been for the email that I received the next day, I would have continued planning a complete bird genocide—I was blessed with a piano scholarship to continue lessons for the upcoming semester even though I was unable to apply for it due to my semester abroad. The Spanish were right—well, to some point.