Good Samaritans are in Danger

My rent-to-own furniture store is located within a mall in the downtown area of my city.  I have a special staff parking pass that allows me to leave my vehicle in the staff parking area all day without risk of a ticket.  In order to get to work, I park around in the back lot and walk through the parking garage to take the elevator up to the main floor. 

This morning, as I walked through the parking garage, I heard a low, mournful sound.

"..ooohooohooohooohooooo…"

I stopped and listened.  There was silence.  Then it came again:

"…ooohooohooohooo…"

"Hello? "  I said.  It was quiet for a few moments, the only sound being that of the ventilation system kicking in.  I was about to continue on my way when I heard it again.

"…aaaahaaahaaahooohooohooohooo…"

It sounded kind of like an old man crying, or moaning in pain.  It was coming from a dark corner behind a parked jeep.  I crept toward the sound, nerves on edge.

"…uhhuhhuhhhoooohooohooohooooohoooooo…"

"Hello?  Is someone there?  Are you hurt?" 

There was no response. 

As I got closer to where the sound had come from, I noticed a half-open door in the corner that probably led to some kind of storage area.  I was beginning to get very nervous, convinced that there was some poor elderly man, possibly a vagrant, who had gone into the storage area to sleep and inadvertently knocked a huge pile of irresponsibly stored pointy metal onto himself.  Now the poor man could be pinned hopelessly beneath the wreckage, likely bleeding profusely, and probably close to death.  I was his only hope. 

Boldly, I strode towards the storage door, certain that I would rescue this poor man and save his life.  My picture would be in the paper.  The mayor would give me the key to the city, and I would humbly accept.  I would be asked to go on tour, giving inspirational speeches to high school students on the merits of giving of yourself, of bravery, of being a Good Samaritan.  I was about to be a hero.

I grasped the door handle and pulled.

The biggest, fattest, mangiest pigeon I have ever seen swooped out of the darkness and attacked my face, moaning all the while in his creepy old-man voice.  I screamed and ran, dreams of fame and glory shattered in one feathered instant.

I am now convinced that there is a legion of giant, radioactive evil pigeons seeking to take over humanity, one Good Samaritan at a time.  They will lure us, one by one, into situations of apparent heroism which we cannot resist, only to hawk poisonous radioactive mercury loogies into our eyes.  No one is safe.  I will never offer to help another person again.

Well, except for babies.  I would still offer my heroic services to a baby in need.  If I was walking down the street and a baby came up to me and was like "Hey lady, my stroller has a flat tire.  Could you help a baby out?"  I'd be all like "Sure, child.  I can change that tire for you, no problem."  Because it's a baby, and therefore would be unlikely to possess the physical strength to viciously attack me with its rattle while I was working on the stroller.  Heck, I'd even buy the baby a bottle of milk if it was hungry.  I would, however, draw the line at changing a strange baby's poopy diaper.  I mean, babies are cute and all, but you just don't know where they've BEEN!