John Joseph Jones the third walked into his house in much better mood than usual. He smiled at the gatekeeper, even gave the nasty mongrel of a dog the gardener kept a pat on the head [and then, obviously, promptly squeezed some purell out of the travel-sized bottle he kept in his briefcase]. He had been commissioned by a local bank to paint a mural on their street-side wall, and his mural turned out absolutely fantastically, likely some of his best work. It didn’t matter that the bankers refused a ribbon-cutting ceremony like he requested, or that he was only commissioned for one wall instead of all four like he obviously deserved, no, the only thing that mattered was that his mural blew the pants off of those three amateurs. John hopped in the shower and spent a full hour basking in the warm water & his glory.
“AND!” he thought, “their art doesn’t have nearly the depth of meaning that mine has. I mean come on, a serpent, which is biblical, riding a unicycle, with a sun in GLASSES, pointing to the abhorrent culture of materialism those kids hold today” Satisfied, he grabbed his towel— which he had been saving as a treat— and dried off.
The next morning, John decided to walk over to the bank and admire his work. To his absolute DISGUST, he noticed that his mural had been painted over! In a fit of rage, he walked into the bank, demanding to speak to the manager.
“What, praytell, do you plan to do to fix this?” he shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth. Continuing to yell, he said next “I am THE MOST coveted painter in the E N T I R E world, and you let some HOOLIGAN paint over my m a s t e r p i e c e??”
“Sir if you could please calm down a moment I can ex-“
“CALM DOWN? Why don’t you calm down, woman?”
“Alright sir I’m going to have to either stop yelling and, frankly, being incredibly rude, or leave. I would be more than happy to sort this out with you, but only if you treat me as what I am, your equal.”
Stewing silence on the part of John Joseph.
“You see, yesterday was Holi, a Hindu holiday that celebrates the beginning of spring. That ‘graffiti’ is powder called gulal. The local kids were celebrating after you left yesterday, and it got on the walls. It will be clear by the next rain.”
Angry at being proven wrong. John turned on his heel and practically stomped back to his car. On his way home, he calls over his best two lady friends for a little comfort.