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The Microscopic Misstep: How the Thinnest Layer of Paint Turned into a Mountain of Paperwork

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A long, shallow mark that vanished with a simple rub, yet it sparked a mountain of paperwork. In the world of bus driving, even the most insignificant marks demand a bureaucratic response. And yes, every detail gets documented.

A Mark That Left No Trace, but Plenty of Paperwork

It’s funny how, in the grand scheme of things, the universe measures impact. Some collisions shake the ground, alter history, and leave a mark for generations. Others? Well, they barely leave a mark at all, except on paperwork.

It’s not so funny how the thinnest layer of paint can turn a non-event into an administrative saga. A near-invisible touch, yet a mountain of paperwork follows.

There are moments in this job when the world slows down, and you become hyper-aware of the difference a few microns of paint can make. A brush, a whisper, a meeting of surfaces so gentle it might not have even been noticed in another time, another place. And yet, in this world, such moments demand theatre.

Close-up of a paintbrush with rich madder red paint on its bristles, ready to leave its mark

Reports must be written, details scrutinised, diagrams drawn with the precision of a master cartographer. Each layer of process thicker than the layer of paint in question. There’s an irony to it. The more insignificant the event, the greater the administrative burden.

And so, what should have been a passing moment became an ordeal of calls, forms, and officialdom. Not because of the effect, there was barely one, but because of the principle. A principle that doesn’t measure weight, speed, or consequence. Just contact.

A micron-thin difference between an uneventful day and an exhausting one. Just as well I like crafting reports.

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