Barnaby Buttercup, a man whose wardrobe consisted primarily of brightly colored Hawaiian shirts and suspenders that perpetually threatened to snap, was notorious at the airport. Not for smuggling contraband, mind you, but for his obsessive polishing of anything remotely shiny. He’d once spent twenty minutes buffing a discarded chewing gum wrapper to a blinding gleam. Today, his target was the airport’s newly installed, chrome-plated luggage trolley.
“Excuse me, sir,” a harried-looking airline employee said, rushing past. “That’s not a…a…well, it’s not a very sanitary thing to do.”
Barnaby, mid-stroke with a miniature chamois cloth, didn’t miss a beat. “Sanitary? My dear fellow, you wouldn’t believe the germs lurking on those unpolished surfaces! I’m performing a public service!” He beamed, a flash of gold tooth glinting in the reflected light.
He continued his meticulous work, humming a jaunty tune, completely oblivious to the growing number of bewildered onlookers. A small child pointed, giggling, “Mommy, look! He’s making the trolley sparkly!”
Barnaby, hearing this, straightened up proudly. “Indeed, my little sprout! I call it ‘Airport Shine.’ It’s my patented method. Soon, every trolley in the world will gleam like a…like a…well, like a highly polished, exceptionally clean trolley.” He winked.
Just then, security rushed over. “Sir,” a stern officer said, “We have to ask you to stop. You’re creating a security risk. All this… shine…is disrupting our surveillance cameras.”
Barnaby blinked, utterly confused. “But… but I’ve just made it so much easier to see everything!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards his gleaming masterpiece. “The cameras can practically see into the future now!”
The officer sighed, exasperated. “Sir, we think you’ve polished off the security cameras’ infrared lenses.”
