Small town culture is knowing that there are Old Folks with strange nicknames but never knowing the stories behind them.
Of course, I made the mistake of asking why everyone calls this one guy Brickaday and it turns out that he worked at a brickyard for 40 years, stealing exactly one brick every day and making no particular efforts to conceal the theft. Nobody thought anything of it until years later he was discovered to have built three houses.
His boss is said to have shrugged and made some remarks about the importance of coming up with a plan and sticking to it.
I‘m trying to arrange my face into an appropriate approximation of silent bafflement and failing miserably.
i appreciate brickaday
chaotic good
My grandpa once told me he worked with a guy called Scrappy at General Motors back in the 50s. Every few days he would wheelbarrow out metal shavings and the foreman was convinced he was stealing things and hiding them in the scrap metal to get it out of the factory. But every time they’d go through the scrap they’d find nothing. He was stealing the wheelbarrows.
One of my late grandfather’s friends was called Salami because he used to steal salami and cured meats so I’m seeing a pattern here
*young republican voice* i don’t see why my rich, rich, rich rich rich, rich rich rich rich, so fucking rich, father should have to pay for poorer boys school lunches. he could spend that money on a racism machine
Remember when someone young republican’s brilliant reply to this post was something like “racism machine? you mean a brain?” because that bit of “I’m not racist I’m racist” has stayed with me over the years
