Scary Stuff

by anna at 07:50 PM on November 20, 2002

Greetings from the latest yapper on BS. By way of introduction, I am a reclusive would-be author residing outside your nation's capital, Sniperville. Yes, it wasn't so long ago that I pumped gas in mortal fear of being shot dead in my tracks. At one point I patronized a Sunoco station where a man was murdered. There was a suspicious-looking stain in the pavement that may or may not have resulted from an oil leak.

But that wasn't the scariest thing. An email from the BS pooh-ba MG urging me to "be myself" when posting was. I've written as a raving lunatic for my book, as a bland businesperson for my job as a claims adjustor and even adopted the tone of a 12 year old for my son's projects. But myself? That's nerve-wracking beyond words.

Equally disconcerting was the latest episode in our ongoing Remodeling Project From Hell. Seems someone planted the notion in my SO's head that our bathroom fixtures were hopelessly out-of-date. So out they came and thus did our nightmare commence. It culminated last night as we struggled to link the "hot" bathtub spray paint with the "cold" variety per the instruction booklet. Suffice it to say they connected about as well as Rosie O'Donnell and her magazine staff. As I struggled to force the issue, the "hot" began to spurt a creamy white liquid the viscosity of used motor oil all over my face, leather jacket and into my eyes. I felt like a porno star. Surely our neighbors enjoyed a hearty guffaw as I panicked and hurled the hissing can as if it were a grenade with its pin pulled across our lawn. Which, like our stoop and my jacket, is now colored partly white.

So, thus slathered in paint and with peepers ablaze as if embers, did I proceed to Lowe's to seek out a refund or an exchange for a less volatile product. I saunter up to the return counter with said cans in hand. "Can I help you," the clerk asked in that my-shift-ends-in-four-minutes tone that implies there's nothing further from her mind.

I explained the mishap and inquired about my alternatives to being attacked by a paint can run amok. Only to learn that other customers have suffered similar fates with this stuff. Why then would a reputable retailer continue to sell it? "It only happens about once a month," came the reply. And that's scary.

Should you find yourself dissatisified with your bathtub hue, CALL THE GUY.