Today I hit one of those development stopping points where the next chunk you start will take a while. I needed to head home in about 30 minutes so it didn’t make sense to start the next thing. I figured I’d just get home a little early.
About a block from my office there’s this tiny bar. I’ve checked it out a couple times before. It’s nothing special. Tiny, only a few beers on tap, but at least they are decent. And during happy hour draft beers are $3.
So with an extra 30 minutes I figured why not.
So I’m drinking a Blue Point Winter Ale (not bad) and checking out my RSS subscriptions via Google Reader on my phone. I’m sitting right next to two guys who clearly know the bartender and are chatting away. I’m trying not to eavesdrop.
Then this other guy goes behind the bar and makes himself a drink. He’s not serving anyone, he just seems like the owner. He knows these two guys and after pouring himself something strong they start chatting.
Again, trying not to eavesdrop.
But it’s a tiny place and they are right next to me. And let’s recall that this is in DUMBO, a fairly artsy, eclectic neighborhood in Brooklyn.
The owner says to the two guys,
I had a really bad day. I lost a Picasso.
At this point, trying not to eavesdrop is out the window. Surely I misheard him. He lost an espresso, or a pistachio, or a panini.
But no. After not eavesdropping some more, this guy must be somehow affiliated with MOMA (the Museum of Modern Art). Some Picasso was being transported from Queens to Manhattan. It didn’t get there. He spent the whole day trying to track it down. He still hasn’t found it.
This boggles my mind on many levels.
First of all, where else do you randomly walk into a bar and hear the phrase, "I lost a Picasso"?
Second, I’ve had bad days at work before. I’ve had really bad days at work. But I’ve never lost a priceless work of art. Software defects suddenly don’t look so bad.
And finally, I really hope he finds it…