Apparently, crows can remember a face. Great.
Not only do I have to worry about crows dive bombing me, now I can't even scream at them and flip them off because they will remember me. And they will plan their great attack.
Perhaps when I'm down at the Locks, all by myself, enjoying the sunshine. Laying on a blanket, eyes closed. They will recognize me. And they will swarm in a giant murder, descending upon me with their oily little feathers and loud caws. They will peck at me with their beaks as I scream for help. But no one will help me. No one likes crows.
Eventually, the horrible beasts will grab my lifeless, bloodied body with their ugly, pointy feet and carry me off to their nest in order to continue their merciless execution.
No, I haven't seen Hitchcock's The Birds.