Tuesday, March 20, 2007

And a nickname is born

One of the greatest things about Jerry's new schedule is that we have afternoons off together. And our daylight hours are filled with much more productive activities than our former post-midnight hours which mostly included sitting on the couch and catching up on our DVR recordings.

Now that the weather has been a little nicer, we're taking epic walks with Toby, wandering around our still-seems-like-new town, making random turns to see where it takes us.

A few weeks ago, we came upon a sprawling defunct factory -- a gigantic faded tan metal building more than three blocks wide.

"I wonder what they used to produce here," I said.

"I don't know, but Ben and I call it the 'Fuck Factory'," Jerry said.

And just as I was about to ask why on Earth they would call it that, immediately jumping to conclusions in my head, wondering why the local high school kids would dare do something that intimate behind this gross building without even the slightest bit of scenery, I saw it.

There on the side of the sprawling wall was a bit of graffiti: FUCK.

And I just started laughing. I mean it was the most unassuming piece of vandalism I'd ever seen. It's barely a foot tall and scrawled in drippy black spray paint with the worst penmanship imaginable. And that was it. Nothing else. No crazy graphics. No initials taking pride in their work. No bold color. Nothing.

"Apparently they felt like they got their message across," Jerry said.

"I guess so. Not 'Fuck this place' or 'Fuck you' or 'Fuck off' or anything. Just 'fuck'."

"Props for getting to the point, I guess."

A few paces later, we came across another "F," but nothing else. Apparently two fucks would've been too much. The author obviously decided that it would detract from the bold statement of the first one. A second one would just be gratuitous. Not as intense.

Or maybe the spray paint wielder didn't think people could handle it. Like one more profanity might make people's heads explode. The first one would cause women to faint, covering their children's eyes in horror. But a second one? DARE THERE BE A SECOND ONE?! No. Anything but THAT! GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD.

Or maybe they just ran out of spray paint. But I don't like this theory. I like to think the person had plenty more and opted not to use it. You know, showed a little self-restraint. Saved some of their destructive tendencies for other buildings and other potential audiences.

Either way, Jerry and I had an interesting time coming up with possible scenarios leading to the lone profanity.

And I may never find out what was produced there, but I'll forever call it the Fuck Factory.


Anonymous said...

Ha. It's interesting to think what kind of people would work at a factory like that.

"tagger" plainsman said...

Before the web and cell phones existed, the old Ajax Spray Paint Company (that's what they made there) sent their best sales rep on a round-the-world trip where he racked up millions of dollars in new orders. When he got back, he found out they went out of business and saw his commissions and job vanish in thin air. Having one last demonstration can of black paint in his briefcase, he spelled out his frustration...

...and now you know the rest of the story!

jsi said...

Who wouldn't want to drink pickle juice. A hundred dollars for that, no way!

jsi said...

As you can tell, a misplaced comment from your video post. Ugh

Ray said...

That is so funny. There's some grafitti writing as soon as I turn the corner of where I live to go to the train. I forgot what it says, damn it! It's something about God. And I thought that's weird. Ugh, when I see it again I'll let you know what it says. But that's so funny the "Fuck Factory." I bet you'll be telling your grandkids about that! ;o)

Take care, Kelly.

Emale said...

You're hilarious.

Jennifer said...

Perhaps the spraypainter got caught before he could finish...