Today, I painted the ceiling of an art studio. No sarcasm intended, I love my job. It’s pretty great.
I think I like painting because of how solitary it is. You don’t really have to think much to paint a wall. You just paint and let your mind wander, and that’s pretty cool. Like, today, for instance, the studio was empty. Middle of the week, everyone’s out working or studying the migratory patterns of ducks or having no disposable income. You could hear the roller lick the ceiling. It was just me, this middle-aged lady and the drone of Christian rock for an hour and a half. I can deal with solitude, but apparently she can’t because five minutes after I started painted she started asking me all these questions. Where I go to school, what grade I’m in, where I’m going to college next year anyhow. Then she started getting into the good ones. She asked me what I want to study. I told her English. She gave me the customary, “That’s cool” and there was awkward silence, so I elaborated. I told her I really dig English, that I’m reading Catcher in the Rye right now. I went off on this nerdy tangent about how my friends are lame and don’t like reading good books. I classified Catcher as a good book.
She said, “Well, that’s a matter of opinion, ain’t it?”
There was the unspoken answer of No, not really and silence until it was time to say goodbye.
Sometimes people really depress the hell out of me. I don’t know why.