This morning, I was in the spec room on the phone ordering breakfast. I was bored waiting, so I started kicking a piece of paint that was on the floor that had cracked and buckled up. You see, several months ago, we had the floors redone in the front lobby and in the spec room. The lobby was to be recarpeted and the spec room was to have its floor painted. Well, apparently, they took the carpet up in the spec room, the painters didn't use the right type of primer on the floor (or perhaps just didn't use enough) before they painted the floor. This was apparent after a couple weeks, when the paint started buckling in areas, and repeated foot and cart traffic over those areas caused the paint to crack and fall apart, showing bare floor. After this was relayed to Tom, he said that he'd have the painters come back and redo the affected areas. Well, in typical Maryland Repro fashion, it's been several months and nothing's happened. So, now we have several bare spots the size of a hand near the computers and one big bare spot about a foot and a half long and a foot wide near the phone. In the mean time, my dad and others would sometimes kick at the holes a little bit, trying to make interesting shapes. Plus, the painters will have to scrape the whole area up anyway when they redo it. Well, this is what I was doing right after I got off the phone. Alex comes up behind me and starts cussing me out for doing it. When he asked why I did it, I said it was fun and it didn't matter, because it was getting redone anyway. He was cussing at me because I was "purposely making it look worse." (There is a good reason to actually do that, though. The worse it looks, the faster it will get fixed, in theory. Squeaky wheel gets the grease and all that.) Well, at this point, my dad starts cussing him out for being so stupid, likening it to someone pouring a gallon of water into a flooded basement that was getting pumped out anyway. It didn't matter. Well, when the two of them started cussing each other out, I left, having more important things to do. (Apparently, they started cussing each other out on other topics, as well, but I only heard that secondhand.) The thing that I don't understand is why he, of all people, would get so emotional over something so insignificant. He is not the one going to do the repair work. He is not the one paying for the repair work. Also, my dad is the manager of that room, not him. Also, it's not like he goes in there often. He sleeps at the computer in the back all the time. Why should he care what goes on in there?
So, he's not repairing it, not paying for it, not having to look at it, and not in charge. Yet he goes absolutely bonkers over it?
I'm telling you his brother Aaron got all the recessive genes in that family, because Aaron is the only sane one in the bunch.
I'm currently wondering how long it will be before he actually does his search again and reads this.