Watching paint dry

I've spent the last hour sitting in my cubicle listening to our building maintenance man walk in to our conference room about every five minutes and curse up a blue streak. We ordered a massive white board that needed to be specially mounted in the conference room, so our maintenance man hired a guy a few days ago to do this. Apparently, this involved cutting a huge section of the wall out, and then filling it back in with drywall.

Yesterday, our maintenance man admitted he'd forgotten to hire a painter, so he said it looked like he was going to have to do it himself. I had a moment of doubt when he said this, but then I thought "He IS the maintenance man. Surely he's capable of painting a five by seven foot piece of wall." Well, I saw him applying the paint with a roller this morning. When he came back this afternoon, I heard him spew out obscenities that would make a sailor blush. I craned my head to look inside and saw the paint had dried about five shades darker than the rest of the wall. Not good. I couldn't help but feel a selfish moment of relief that I had nothing to do with this gaffe.

Hmmmm, maybe I'll pick up some vermouth on the way home so I can use that Bombay Sapphire Gin martini kit I got for Christmas.