It ain't easy being "Green"
While working on overhead distribution systems near the ocean special copper wire is utilized to weather the damp, salty air. Over time, the brownish gold line earns it’s patina and turns to a bluish green. Miles of this runs along the California coastline.
It was about 4 am on a week night, and a crew was thrown together to stack hundred dollar bills at the expense of a drunken driver. A car had crashed through all sorts of things in the neighborhood until coming to an abrupt and final stop beneath a proud chunk of cedar. Neither fared well as a result.
In the pitch black of night and flashing blue, red, and yellow lights, the crew worked to put it all back where it used to be. The fresh pole was set and the new Grunt recently hired off the street scrambled around nervously collecting items to send up to the Lineman above.
“Hey, Kid! Don’t forget the paint!” one of the guys on the ground yelled as he was about to send up the bag. “You gotta make it match… What the hell’s wrong with you? Do it once and do it right! You DON’T want to piss him off up there!!! ” The other young guys on the crew were puzzled, not sure what the hell the paint was for-- but quietly looked on, thankful the Journeymen Linemen had a newer, “greener” guy to mess with.
The new Grunt tore through the truck's compartments and came up with a rattle can of florescent green paint that had been buried underneath a bunch of forgotten, tangled up shit.
It was mystery why the can was on the truck in the first place— as the obnoxious color matched absolutely nothing in the field. Perhaps stowed for this exact scenario, the ridiculous florescent color had been carefully selected to align with the ridiculousness of it’s said purpose. It’s presence bound to piss off some safety nerd as a violation on the truck for it’s absence on the company list of approved chemicals. But, the reward outweighed the risk... Clearly.
Once the final item was located, it made it’s way up the pole. The Lineman looked in the bag, and on top was the can of paint the Grunt was sure he'd get an “atta-boy” for remembering to include.
Over the idling diesel and the generator noise, the awaited response rang down from above. Upon discovery of the florescent paint in the bag, all within earshot hear it: “What the f**k is this shit?! The spray can hit the ground with sobering impact as the car vs. pole hours before: "Do I look like Sherwin F**king William to you?!"