![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
loloteheHey, alright! I took a shower. I was at Home Depot today. Guess what I've got for you?
Yvonne wanted a new bathroom. There was no dissuading her.
She and her husband, Xavier, went to the local hardware/DIY store one April to check out the new bathroom counter-tops and tiles. Only to look--mind you--and check prices and work out what was going to be affordable.
The salesman glided his fingers across the counter. "It's all nanites," he said. "They build it over two weeks and keep up the repair. We have a lifetime guarantee."
"Whose lifetime?" Xavier asked, and Yvonne and the salesman both laughed at his naivety.
"And in only two weeks?" Yvonne asked. "Does it make a lot of noise?"
The salesman smiled, flipping though the sample book. "A mild hum. You'd hardly know they're at work. We shape everything based on what you already have and they just grow over it."
The estimate was four-thousand dollars. Xavier bit his bottom lip, but knew that Yvonne wanted it. He would let her do as she pleased in this regard. She spent more time in the bathroom already, so that was her domain.
Yvonne looked at the swatches. "Oh, it's so hard to pick a color."
"You can reprogram them after they've done the build," the salesman cooed. "Match that with mood-paint and it will always be the bathroom you've wanted."
"And scratches....?" Yvonne let that question hang. She was more concerned about stains, as she dyed her hair on a regular basis and it was always a messy process.
The salesman drew a slow finger across the in-store model. "Not a problem at all. They always repair any damage."
Yvonne hemmed and hawed and asked for a sample tile to take home--just to see.
The salesman smiled and packed the tiny square, lovingly, in an envelope.
******
"If it's self-replicating, then why are we paying them?" Yvonne asked.
Xavier watched his wife as she scraped the sample tile over their current, pink bathroom counter.
"It will do the work on its own," she said, marking the counter with long, ugly lines. "The sample works the same as the real thing, right? They want four-thousand to install this? We'll show them!"
The powder she scraped into the lines was "midnight", the color she wanted for the new counters. She had already sanded the corners to a more pleasing shape, using the sixty-dollar sander they had had picked up at the hardware store.
"Two weeks," Yvonne announced. "Then we just have to repaint and you'll see. As good as new!"
****
The sample nanites did not disappoint. After two weeks, the new counter had grown into shape, as dark and lovely as Yvonne had hoped. She and Xavier repainted the bathroom a bright, vivid blue. It was stunning.
After three weeks, the walls took on a distinctive "midnight" tone.
At month end, the sink and faucet were both the same deep blue. The bright blue floor had dark streaks across it.
"We'll cut it back," Yvonne said.
She was very diligent with the scraper, but the color continued to spread across the bathroom. The contrast of the "midnight" counter with the "sunrise" walls was lost on an almost daily basis.
Then, who knows who tracked it in--maybe it was Xavier, maybe it was Yvonne--there was a distinctive "midnight" patch in the middle of the kitchen floor. It spread, slowly, over a two week period, over Yvonne's carefully selected "sunset" color scheme in the kitchen.
Yvonne tried to keep up with the change, cycling out appliances to fit the new color scheme.
By the end of May, the stove was "midnight". As was the hallway between the bathroom and master bedroom.
It was the middle of June when the living room took on a "midnight" tone and became very uncomfortable. Xavier first noticed it when the sofa was not as plush and forgiving as it had been in the past. Yvonne noted how much easier stains would be to tidy.
By the end of July, the entire interior of the house was "midnight". Even with new lighting fixtures (which Xavier estimated at six-hundred dollars), the effect could not be avoided. It was taking over the house and something had to be done.
The salesman at the supply store was very understanding and provided a quote over the phone for a "nanite retardation process" that would halt the tiny machines.
After factoring the spread to other areas of the house, the final estimate was ten-thousand dollars. Yvonne and Xavier went with a four-year financing plan, and the nanites were confined to the bathroom.
The kitchen returned to its busky brown after only five days.
The bathroom looked fantastic. The midnight counters contrasted with the "sunrise" paint, just as Yvonne had suggested.
The entire process only cost, in the end, six-thousand more than they had been quoted.
Yvonne wanted a new bathroom. There was no dissuading her.
She and her husband, Xavier, went to the local hardware/DIY store one April to check out the new bathroom counter-tops and tiles. Only to look--mind you--and check prices and work out what was going to be affordable.
The salesman glided his fingers across the counter. "It's all nanites," he said. "They build it over two weeks and keep up the repair. We have a lifetime guarantee."
"Whose lifetime?" Xavier asked, and Yvonne and the salesman both laughed at his naivety.
"And in only two weeks?" Yvonne asked. "Does it make a lot of noise?"
The salesman smiled, flipping though the sample book. "A mild hum. You'd hardly know they're at work. We shape everything based on what you already have and they just grow over it."
The estimate was four-thousand dollars. Xavier bit his bottom lip, but knew that Yvonne wanted it. He would let her do as she pleased in this regard. She spent more time in the bathroom already, so that was her domain.
Yvonne looked at the swatches. "Oh, it's so hard to pick a color."
"You can reprogram them after they've done the build," the salesman cooed. "Match that with mood-paint and it will always be the bathroom you've wanted."
"And scratches....?" Yvonne let that question hang. She was more concerned about stains, as she dyed her hair on a regular basis and it was always a messy process.
The salesman drew a slow finger across the in-store model. "Not a problem at all. They always repair any damage."
Yvonne hemmed and hawed and asked for a sample tile to take home--just to see.
The salesman smiled and packed the tiny square, lovingly, in an envelope.
******
"If it's self-replicating, then why are we paying them?" Yvonne asked.
Xavier watched his wife as she scraped the sample tile over their current, pink bathroom counter.
"It will do the work on its own," she said, marking the counter with long, ugly lines. "The sample works the same as the real thing, right? They want four-thousand to install this? We'll show them!"
The powder she scraped into the lines was "midnight", the color she wanted for the new counters. She had already sanded the corners to a more pleasing shape, using the sixty-dollar sander they had had picked up at the hardware store.
"Two weeks," Yvonne announced. "Then we just have to repaint and you'll see. As good as new!"
****
The sample nanites did not disappoint. After two weeks, the new counter had grown into shape, as dark and lovely as Yvonne had hoped. She and Xavier repainted the bathroom a bright, vivid blue. It was stunning.
After three weeks, the walls took on a distinctive "midnight" tone.
At month end, the sink and faucet were both the same deep blue. The bright blue floor had dark streaks across it.
"We'll cut it back," Yvonne said.
She was very diligent with the scraper, but the color continued to spread across the bathroom. The contrast of the "midnight" counter with the "sunrise" walls was lost on an almost daily basis.
Then, who knows who tracked it in--maybe it was Xavier, maybe it was Yvonne--there was a distinctive "midnight" patch in the middle of the kitchen floor. It spread, slowly, over a two week period, over Yvonne's carefully selected "sunset" color scheme in the kitchen.
Yvonne tried to keep up with the change, cycling out appliances to fit the new color scheme.
By the end of May, the stove was "midnight". As was the hallway between the bathroom and master bedroom.
It was the middle of June when the living room took on a "midnight" tone and became very uncomfortable. Xavier first noticed it when the sofa was not as plush and forgiving as it had been in the past. Yvonne noted how much easier stains would be to tidy.
By the end of July, the entire interior of the house was "midnight". Even with new lighting fixtures (which Xavier estimated at six-hundred dollars), the effect could not be avoided. It was taking over the house and something had to be done.
The salesman at the supply store was very understanding and provided a quote over the phone for a "nanite retardation process" that would halt the tiny machines.
After factoring the spread to other areas of the house, the final estimate was ten-thousand dollars. Yvonne and Xavier went with a four-year financing plan, and the nanites were confined to the bathroom.
The kitchen returned to its busky brown after only five days.
The bathroom looked fantastic. The midnight counters contrasted with the "sunrise" paint, just as Yvonne had suggested.
The entire process only cost, in the end, six-thousand more than they had been quoted.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-03-12 01:57 pm (UTC)This line made me think of Stephen King's run-in with meteor shit. Midnight blue. Green moss. Eh, what's the difference?
no subject
Date: 2012-03-13 10:25 pm (UTC)A housewife called a repairman to fix her broken washing machine. The repairman twiddle the knobs, tapped the pipes, grunted, then opened the service panel, took a single nut out of his pocket, and screwed it into place inside the machine. When he replaced the panel, the machine worked good as new.
"There you go, ma'am," he said, "that'll be sixty dollars."
"WHAT?" the housewife shrieked. "All you did was put one little nut in there! I could have bought that nut at the hardware store for a nickel! You didn't take three minutes!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the repairman said, "but the charge is still sixty dollars."
"I demand to see a detailed invoice," the housewife said sternly, "showing exactly HOW you get sixty dollars out of a nickel nut."
The invoice, when the repairman produced it, read as follows:
One (1) hexagonal nut - $0.05
Knowing where to put it - $59.95
Total charge - $60.00
no subject
Date: 2012-03-14 01:50 am (UTC)