Petty mysteries

I describe myself as a curious person.  Most writers would--in fact, I dread the day that I meet a writer who wouldn't.  It's a pretty crucial element of enjoying my work.  This isn't a trait you can shut off outside of working hours, either.  One summer, I started a list of questions on a legal pad: things like "Is there a busiest day of the year for renting U-Hauls?" and "If the national baseball schedule really favors the AL East, is that a proportionately fair decision based on the population that identifies as Boston or New York fans?"  I had dreams of making a massive list and then researching each chapter and publishing it as a book.  

It would be a book that only its author could love, of course, because everyone has different curiosities and quirky things that they love about the world.  I love strange and kooky sights.  I love signs that flash quotation marks haphazardly: What does something like Come on in and buy one "today!" even imply? (See also: the "watermelon" label on Cake Wrecks.) One early morning a few years back, I ran by a drugstore and noticed that pranksters had rearranged the marquee sign letters trumpeting that week's sale into an inappropriate (but creative and quite funny) new sentence.  By the time I passed the store again later in the morning, it had been fixed, with (hopefully) no harm done. 

Another key element of kooky sights around town is almost missing them completely but not quite, a double-take of sorts. (I think most of the world passing by that drugstore sign never saw the mishap.) This morning, I got to work and settled into my office.  I have windows, which let in wonderful light, but they face another building's brick wall, so looking out the window doesn't usually yield much entertainment.  I'm on the second floor, and if I were to climb out my window, I'd land on something that is sturdier than an awning, but definitely not a roof.

My colleague peeked out the window this morning. "It seems that there is a cone on our roof today," she said.

And there it was.  Overnight, a large construction cone had appeared outside my window.  Where did it come from? Is it a prank?  Is it marking something, thus serving a very functional purpose that I just can't see?  Should I feel cautioned?  This poor huge lone cone, an utterly innocuous sight 15 feet above street level, made me burst out laughing.  Those tiny, tiny quirks--the not even overtly funny ones--those are what I enjoy.

What do you get a kick out of?