The Blog

“Ever wonder what it’s like to be a window washer?”

“Not really…I mean, it’s certainly not the most glamorous of jobs.”

“Well, when you think about it, it’s gotta be pretty trippy. I mean, there you are, sort of physically and emotionally standing outside of all kinds of daily situations. Sure, if you’re watching someone make out with their co-worker on the desk of their office you might start unconsciously wiping more seductively with your squeegee or something, but for the most part you should be able to remain outside and unaffected. Right? I mean, things would never get in your head, right?”

“I don’t know. Why would you think of that?”

“Because I bought a new squeegee Hal…and I’m on Red Bull.”

“Good God, Rebecca…stop coming towards me! What is the meaning of this? You can’t use that squeegee on a person. It’s too powerful. Also, you’re married. And you work for an accounting firm. It’s completely out of character.”

“Hal. You’re dirty. We’re all dirty. Only I can see. I’m the walrus. I’m the cosmos. I’m the window washer.”

“Rebecca…that’s crazy talk. You’re not making any sense. You’re a middle-aged woman with a penchant for buying Cuisinarts. You don’t want to endanger that…that DEEPLY MEANINGFUL PASSION.”

“You’re right, Hal. I’ll just smear this peanut butter on my eyelids and do pelvic thrusts to the rhythm of this Kenny Loggins song.”

“That sounds good, Rebecca. I’m calling the police.”