R.A.B.B. Entry #105 — The Lease of Selective Liability
There’s a funny thing about shared spaces: responsibility has a way of suddenly becoming your name on the invoice.
If something breaks that you had nothing to do with? You’re “already here, so you might as well fix it.” If someone else damages it? Well, that’s “wear and tear,” and everyone should just live with it.
It’s a magic trick—fault disappears the moment it would cost them money. But the second there’s even a whisper of benefit for the other party? Oh, they remember every tiny scratch you’ve ever made.
The best part? These conversations are never about solutions. They’re about passing the torch—sometimes literally—so that when the bills roll in, the flame’s already in your hands.
"If you knew time, you’d see how short your pathetic life truly is. How every second drips closer to the end. Oh, how deliciously ironic it would be— to watch you waste it, thinking you have more." — The Timekeeper’s Whisper
Jerry (Dept. of Petty Affairs): “Oh, I get it. I’m the default setting for blame. The living warranty. The raccoon in the crawlspace who also doubles as free labor.”
Mrs. Catford: Tail flicks with disdain. “If they hand you the torch, make sure the bridge they’re standing on is the first thing it lights.”
Mr. Catford: Growls. “Keep handing me your problems and I’ll start handing you my teeth.”
The Clown: Grins wide. “Funny thing about responsibility… the more they push it on you, the closer they get to the edge without realizing it.”
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