I immediately noticed the spanking new pop of mustard yellow paint separating the right side of the road from the left. Normal. After about 200 feet, however, I glimpsed a slash of tire tracks imprinted with that brand new paint, swerving a bit and then fading away.
We’re so used to seeing perfect lines, perfect order, that this is something I never expected.
So, what happened?
- The painters did not properly block off the road and a gung-ho teenager went to town.
- The head painter looked away for a minute, and his bozo colleague, the junior painter, backed his truck into the paint.
- A toddler drove her Barbie Jeep across the paint line.
- The painters deliberately sabotaged their own work in order to get paid again for doing the same job.
- Aliens. It was aliens.
Why do I feel the need to explain this situation to myself? It doesn’t really affect anyone. It’s still very clear where the middle of the road is. No harm, no foul.
I think perhaps the main reason why I find this little blip on the radar of a Wednesday morning so intriguing is that perfection is b-o-r-i-n-g.
Isn’t it so much more interesting to find a lone curly fry in your french fries, an unidentified animal print in your sidewalk, or a hot pink sharpie in your stash of regular old pens? That’s my opinion, anyway.
What little imperfections in life make you smile? Please, do tell.