Stupid people should NOT paint

So…this will be mildly amusing to anyone who remembers the “Chef-Boy-Ardee incident” at Village Circle a decade ago.

This weekend I decided to finally (no comments please) sand and prep that window over the sink for painting. Got it all sanded, and put filler into the imperfections last night.
Woke up this morning and decided to put the paint on it.

Taped it all up, laid out my equipment, sanded down the spackle from last night.
Grabbed my $70 plastic bucket of Turkish Brown paint, and as I have done a dozen times before, shook it to mix the paint.
As I’m shaking it though, a bizarre confluence of bad luck, physics, and the malevolence of an as-yet-unamed deity conspired against me. Which, in itself it pretty common in my life. It just doesn’t usually happen while I’m shaking a paint bucket.

Anyhow, the result of this meeting of forces was that the inner ring of the paint container – which is only snapped into place, not actually part of the container itself, and which strangely enough also holds the threading onto which the COVER of the paint bucket screws – somehow managed to snap out of the bucket. Yep. Clean out. With a cute little “pop”. A piece of fucking engineering brilliance, that is.

This wouldn’t have been so bad, except that INSIDE the container the paint was, thanks to my vigorous shaking, moving at a pretty respectable velocity toward me, and finding a newly created opening decided to EXPLODE out of the freaking bucket launching paint ALL OVER ME and a dozen feet behind me. There was paint everywhere. From the dishwasher to the refrigerator and into the entry hallway. There was paint on the hardwood floor leading out to the front door. The was paint IN my shoes. No shit, inside them. Happily, part of my head was protected by an old t-shirt I had tied around my face to keep the sanding dust out of my mouth, and hadn’t yet taken off, otherwise I’d probably have gotten a mouthful.

I swore. A lot. In several languages at once. Then I stood there for about 20 seconds, paint dripping from my shirt, face, pants, hands and assessed the situation. My assessment indicated a LOT more swearing was needed, so I took another 10 seconds to get that done. After that I stripped my “painted on” clothes off, had a really good laugh, and started cleaning.

The cleanup took about 90 minutes total. The attached picture shows it at about the 40 minute mark, after I had mostly cleared the floor near the sink and was working outward.

I’m still laughing a little about it. When you’re that unlucky, it helps to have a sense of humor about it.