Window Washers and Madness

There is a very good chance I actually am going crazy. This does not bode well.

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Storytime!

Yesterday I was going out for lunch, because I am too lazy to actually pack my own lunch anymore. The concept of sandwich construction is officially out of my reach before 9:00 in the morning. I decide to head over to the shopping center next to my office building, as it's a pretty nice day and just the thought of trying to navigate anything using the Truck of Malfunction exhausts me.

So I'm wandering down the streets and decide on a little Quizno's, because Lord knows there are few things in the world more delicious than a Cabo Chicken Sandwich. God bless the avacado, y'know? Anyways, the place is installed into the ground floor of an office building, and there is some sort of construction going on on the exterior of the building around the windows on the upper level. Scaffolding and the like, men in hardhats, etc. But the store is still open.

I maze my way through all the scaffolding, acquire my food and start making the long trip back to my building so that I can enjoy my sandwich in the comfort that is my fancy new office. I make it just past the scaffoldings and am waiting on the corner for all the cars to pass so that I might dart through traffic and save myself some time by making a straightline attempt at my building rather than taking the long route all the way around the square.

While I'm standing there, I hear someone say "Oh crap!" From above me. I look up and there is one of those window washering guys who is sort of following along behind the scaffolding and cleaning all the windows that are finished. The guy has dropped his little wiper-y thing (I have no idea what you call those things) and he's holding a big wiper-y thing in such a way that he can't grab it easily. In his fumblings to grab the smaller one, he manages to kick it and it falls off of his little platform towards the ground. Where I am.

Meanwhile, I'm just standing there staring up at him like some yahoo, practically with my mouth hanging open, completely oblivious to the fact that it might not be the best place to watch this drama unfold. Considering I am directly under him and in the path of any potential projectiles. I process this thought a little bit too slowly, coming to that conclusion immediately after the wiper has already been kicked off and is heading towards my person.

Now normally this is the part of the Jason story where I end up with intense injuries and or possible death and embarrassment. But luck and clever window washers are on my side for once, because the guy had attached his wiper to his person by way of a cord. So instead of hitting me, it just flung a nice bit of Windex all over me. Clever, no?

To which I say rock on, considering all the possible outcomes of that scenario. I will totally take smelling like a window over hideous injury any day.

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Reason this means I am going crazy: I remember this happening, as clear as day. But it completely feels like a dream that I am recounting, not an actual event. Except, it did happen. I have the Windex smelling shirt to prove it. And the receipt from Quizno's. But it sounds crazy, right?

Gah. I am no longer properly distinguishing between real life and dreams. Awesome.