At sunrise each morning, the school is silent except for the whistling of sleek wings gliding through the air, the pattering of webbed feet landing in the main quad and an occasional burst of squawking. By 8:30 a.m., hordes of students begin to roll in, complaining about their rigorous classes. Yet, the most cutthroat competition at this school lies outside the classroom doors: perched on rooftops, hiding behind trashcans, circling overhead.
During passing period, the seagulls warm up.
“It’s much harder to take breakfast food from kids during such a short amount of time, so we prefer to save our energy for lunch,” seagull Sally Squawksalot said. “Optimal foraging theory, you know? Anyways, at least one kid spills their cereal every morning, so that’s what we snack on in the meantime.”
At the beginning of lunch period, the gulls prepare to strike. Many stand perfectly spaced on the cafeteria rooftop with pristine posture, all facing the same direction like a military unit.
“This is where I get a good scope of where to strike,” seagull Sandy Seashore said.
During the second half of lunch, the seagulls begin their attack. Gulls swoop, dive and screech. Students stumbling to reach their classes are ruthlessly intercepted. Plastic bags and cardboard food trays swirl in the wind.
“I snatched an entire slice of pizza from this tiny freshman the other day,” Squawksalot said. “I knew I was going to defend it no matter what.”
Clutching the slice with her beak, Squawksalot streaked towards the student parking lot, chased by a horde of other seagulls. The flimsy pizza, however, quickly broke in half.
“I was upset at first, but turns out it was a good distraction, cause they all dove for the fallen piece,” Squawksalot said.
Back on campus, the rest of the seagulls continued to terrorize students.
“Aside from the food, my favorite part of lunchtime is excreting on students,” seagull Sebastian Featherfluff said. “The looks on their faces will never not be funny.”
While most seagulls are careless with their excrements, Featherfluff has perfected the art of releasing his droppings at just the right time to hit defenseless students.
When asked how administration will deal with this issue, school officials said that the seagulls are “unable to be tamed.”
“We struck a deal with the local seagulls decades ago,” an anonymous staff member said. “We needed to appease them, or else every day multiple people would get pooped on. Everybody thinks Southern Californian schools don’t have hallways because we love the weather and sunshine. That’s just a cover up. It’s actually because the seagulls demanded an outdoor cafeteria so they could snatch students’ meals and maintain control over the school. We’re living on their land.”
The staff member advises students to get their lunch and run as fast as possible inside the nearest building.
Campus crows also express vehement disdain for the seagulls.
“I call them the Greedy Gulls,” an anonymous crow said. “Look at them standing on the cafeteria roof like they own everything … When the rest of my murder joins me, we shall conquer this place.”
The seagulls, however, take pride in outcompeting other birds in the ecological niche that is the school campus.
“I mean, it’s survival of the fittest,” seagull Seth Seaside said.
By the time the 1:45 p.m. bell rings, the seagulls have bellies full of pepperoni pizza, mystery meat, questionable burritos and plastic bags. They spend the rest of the day rummaging through trash cans and squabbling over leftover pieces of food.
“It’s like the Hunger Games out here,” Squawksalot said. “Every day is a battle, and no one can be trusted.”
