I'm not great with people. If I'm honest, I'm probably borderline bad with people. There are few that I get on with and even fewer that I would say that I like. Of those, the ones that I will seek the company of are limited and those that I can trust with the world can be counted on one hand. I probably don't even need the entire hand.
It isn't that I don't like people, I just like them over there. Me over here, people over there. For the most part, even with the ones I adore, that works for me.
It doesn't seem to work for anyone else though, so I deal as best I can. I organise them into boxes and containers and colour code and label and, well, I have a system. I'm happy, they're happy, we are all happy. It works.
Until you get a spanner.
They are splendid little gadgets, no doubt about it, but they will not stay in their box. The labels simply do not stick and, even if they did, spanner rules dictate that they must be removed and replaced at regular intervals. Every so often, you get one ripping the coloured tags off it's neighbour and swapping it for it's own. When it comes to sorting out what is what you find that today, what was yesterday labelled as spanner01 is now peach cobbler with a smattering of tennis shoe and half of a small beachside condo in Malibu.
How are you supposed to do anything with that?
Just occasionally, it'd be nice to find a spanner who, after a bath in Coke, a wipe down with eucalyptus oil and a damn good scrub with an old toothbrush, turned out to be a silvery, scuffed and dented whole person at the end of it all, not a mishmash of labels and box numbers collected along the way.
Alas, someone in Archive078 appears to be missing their tag.
Here we go again.









