Every day you run by Mr. Berneke’s house, and every day he sprays you with that hose. You’ve begun to wonder if the only reason he has the hose is to spray people who pass by his property on the sidewalk; you’ve noticed he doesn’t have any plants that need watering.
Today, though, you’ve come prepared. You cross the threshold into Mr. Berneke’s property and, sure enough, are immediately doused by his hose water. You don’t scream curses at him and continue on your way like usual. Today, you stand there, in the powerful stream of Mr. Berneke’s spray nozzle, and you begin to rinse your hair.
Mr. Berneke isn’t quite sure what to make of this.
You take the tiny bottle of shampoo out of your fanny pack and squirt a generous glob onto your palm. You work the shampoo into your hair and produce a rich, thick lather per the bottle instructions. All according to plan.
Mr. Berneke sees what you’re planning, though, and he’s not having any of it. Not on his goddam property. He shuts off the hose before you’re able to rinse the shampoo out of your hair.
“You motherfucker!” you shout angrily.
Berneke just chuckles as he rolls his hose up and walks toward his front door. He turns as he enters the house and informs you that if you even attempt to use his hose to wash that crap out of your hair, he’ll call the police and report you for trespassing. Another of his long chuckles is broken only by the door slamming in your face.
You hate Mr. Berneke.