"I'd like to file a complaint," says the angry-looking man in front of you.
"Sure, sir, what ca-" your words catch in your throat as a malodorous stench fills your nostrils. "Excuse me, sir, I'm not trying to imply anything but...do you know what that smell is?"
"Show her what the smell is, Billy," he says to the floor in front of your desk.
Your surprise is considerable when a small boy appears seemingly out of nowhere and climbs nimbly onto your desk. The child pulls his legs out from under him and places them straight out in front, so that the soles of his shoes are facing you. He points to his legs, which are coated in a thick brown liquid.
The smell is horrendous.
"Did he-" you begin to ask.
Before you can finish the man interrupts. "He shit on himself! Then he rubbed it on his legs!"
"Why would he do that?" you ask, naturally.
"Because, little girl, one of your damned signs told him to!"
"Sir, I'm sure that's not true."
"Here, I took a picture!" he declares while reaching into his jacket pocket. His hand returns from its sport coat journey bearing its hard-won bounty of a cell phone, on which the man brings up a picture of one of the informative signs in the petting zoo. This one is about poop, and a small sideboard explains the peculiar excrement-related habits of storks, specifically that they defecate on their legs in hot weather.
"Sir," you explain with a smirk, "there's no call to action in this."