I’m sitting at my desk job. Mostly I get paid for just being around so it isn’t a bad gig. I also tell people where the bathrooms are. I have infinite wisdom of bathroom geography. One is under the red stairs: it’s the like Harry Potter of bathrooms. I don’t tell anyone where the nice one is. The nice one is my bathroom. I drink a lot of water.
This man comes up to me. He has a staff shirt and is holding a large chunk of plaster that looks like a butt. Not in the way that the burn mark on your toast looked like Jesus that one time but in the way where you look at this chunk of plaster and you instantly think “that’s someone’s ass in plaster form”. He cradles it.
“Is this trash?” He asks.
I work in an art school building- trash and art are both relative terms in the East wing.
“Where’d you find it?” I say.
“In a trashcan” He replies.
“Well if it’s in a trashcan, it’s probably trash”
His eyes look excited and a little bit crazy.
“So I can have it?” He asks.
“Sure”
The man starts fondling the plaster butt. He has a solid grip on the left cheek. They are creating a connection that many people long to one day have.
I can’t help but ask what he plans on doing with it.
“Well” he starts, “it’s a butt right?”
I can only nod in agreement.
“So I’m gonna give it as a present.”
Oh.
Duh.
The man left and I tried to imagine the occasion that would warrant a plaster butt as the perfect gift.