What did I just say?
You ever have those moments when you want to open up your own head, pull out your brain, and inspect it to make sure all the appropriate parts are present?
I had one of those moments yesturday. It was a hot, sunny day. Being surrounded by a bunch of yellow and black buses, waxing and painting must have been what through me over the edge. Half-way through the day, I began to be annoyed at some, or maybe almost all, of my co-workers. Their conversations are filled with nothing I can repeat and their lack of movement while being on the clock would make a sloth look like a world class 100-meter runner.
Anyways, appearing from no where was a box of black spray paint. Being a decently proficient spray painter, I decided to paint a few of the bumpers black. After asking the supervisor, I grabbed a can of paint and ran to the nearest bus (I ran because I was actually excited to do some work) I popped off the lid, shook the can vigorously, and began to point the can in the direction of the bumper with my finger poised for action. The most violent scream erupted and I seariously thought one of my eardrums was going to suffer permanent hearing loss. As I turned around this woman was all in my face saying, "Don't do that!!!" I asked why and she replied, "Cause I already painted it!!" like I was supposed to know that.
It is not like we were talking about a Michelangelo or a di Vinci where you take a background and cover it with a masterpiece. A breath-taking, awe-inspiring piece of artwork is worthy of looking at and protecting with such a violent attack as she placed upon me.
Two years ago I would have said some stupid things in reply like: "You have got to be joking. No one can paint that poorly" or "Are you searious? You would claim that crappy painting as your own?" But being a little older and wiser I said "Oh. Sorry." But it was not really a "sorry I almost killed your priceless masterpiece" but "sorry you paint as bad as a handicapped first grader" kind of sorry.
So I figured I had learned my lesson for the day. Always ask the supervisor first which bumpers you can and can not paint because maybe she can decipher which are the junky old bumpers from usage and which are the junky old bumpers from bad spray painting bus drivers.
"Sue, whose bus is 84?" I asked.
"Julie's."
"Oh...she is not here today. Can I paint her butter?"
Alas, we come to the point of the story for which we get the title of it.
I had one of those moments yesturday. It was a hot, sunny day. Being surrounded by a bunch of yellow and black buses, waxing and painting must have been what through me over the edge. Half-way through the day, I began to be annoyed at some, or maybe almost all, of my co-workers. Their conversations are filled with nothing I can repeat and their lack of movement while being on the clock would make a sloth look like a world class 100-meter runner.
Anyways, appearing from no where was a box of black spray paint. Being a decently proficient spray painter, I decided to paint a few of the bumpers black. After asking the supervisor, I grabbed a can of paint and ran to the nearest bus (I ran because I was actually excited to do some work) I popped off the lid, shook the can vigorously, and began to point the can in the direction of the bumper with my finger poised for action. The most violent scream erupted and I seariously thought one of my eardrums was going to suffer permanent hearing loss. As I turned around this woman was all in my face saying, "Don't do that!!!" I asked why and she replied, "Cause I already painted it!!" like I was supposed to know that.
It is not like we were talking about a Michelangelo or a di Vinci where you take a background and cover it with a masterpiece. A breath-taking, awe-inspiring piece of artwork is worthy of looking at and protecting with such a violent attack as she placed upon me.
Two years ago I would have said some stupid things in reply like: "You have got to be joking. No one can paint that poorly" or "Are you searious? You would claim that crappy painting as your own?" But being a little older and wiser I said "Oh. Sorry." But it was not really a "sorry I almost killed your priceless masterpiece" but "sorry you paint as bad as a handicapped first grader" kind of sorry.
So I figured I had learned my lesson for the day. Always ask the supervisor first which bumpers you can and can not paint because maybe she can decipher which are the junky old bumpers from usage and which are the junky old bumpers from bad spray painting bus drivers.
"Sue, whose bus is 84?" I asked.
"Julie's."
"Oh...she is not here today. Can I paint her butter?"
Alas, we come to the point of the story for which we get the title of it.
posted by brianfurg at 1:45 AM
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