Jason is crying. Nearly. He’s trying to chill out before he snaps and the tears start falling and he punches the well-lit display.
He’s been staring at paint chips for seventeen minutes and is frustrated as hell.
He has it narrowed down to the three gripped tightly in his hand. His nose starts to burn.
Fuck it. He drops two at random and is left with a dark orange called Russet Poppy. Fine. This is it. He’s been in this fucking Home Depot far too long. He is so done with these fucking paint chips. He’s going with Russet Poppy.
Jason walks over to the semi-circle paint mixing counter, where an employee is slumped on a stool, munching chips.
“Hey, I need two gallons of this,” Jason says and tosses the card onto the countertop with some vehemence.
The kid, whose nametag reads, “Timothy”, glances down. “No.”
And Jason just… is reaching his limit of shit for the day. “No? The fuck do you mean?”
Timothy takes another bite of potato chip, chewing unhurriedly. Eventually, he swallows. “That’s not what you want.”
Running a hand down his face, Jason groans. “Come on, man. Just give me the paint so I can be done with this.” He needs to be done with this. Of course, once he gets the paint he has to go home and actually. Paint.
Timothy shakes his head. Eats more. Looks totally unaffected by how he’s fucking with Jason’s already fucked day.
“Fine, Timothy. Why don’t I want this?”
“It’s Tim. They make us put our full name on the nametag, to be professional,” he rolls his eyes. “But I go by Tim.”
He stares pointedly until Jason says, “Tim” and then nods approvingly and stands up from the stool.
“Right. So you don’t want this because it’s orange. Which, psychologically, is an antagonistic color.”
“Orange. Is antagonistic.”
“Yup. What are you painting, your bedroom?”
“You need a happier color for your room. If you wake up to this,” he taps a finger on the card, “every day, you’ll be pissed off all the time. And. No offence, but you seem like maybe you’re already pissed off a lot. So you don’t need to add to that.”
“But I like it.” Jason kind of can’t believe he needs to defend his color choice to this kid.
“Trust me. It won’t do any good. My dad painted my little brother’s room a color close to this and the kid is a demon spawn. This shit causes major behavioral issues.”
“Isn’t it possible he would have been that way even if his room were blue?”
“Well. Yeah, he’s just a brat. No matter what color his room is. But it certainly didn’t help. There’s a psychology behind colors. Most people don’t know that.”
“Okay.” Jason closes his eyes a moment. “So a different, less angry color. They say taupe is very soothing.”
Tim pulls a face, like he tastes something foul. “Yeah. That’s why they use it in offices. So that the poor bastards who sit in their sad little cubicles forty hours a week for forty years won’t kill themselves or each other. If the walls were orange, I guarantee Helen from accounting would have shanked Jim in sales for taking her yogurt again by now.”
Jason finds himself laughing softly. It surprises him, considering the state he’s been in. By the look on Tim’s face, it surprises him, as well.
“Hm. People don’t usually laugh when I say stuff like that.”
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