About 8,000 years ago I was a nit-picking mosaic maker in Egypt. My project at the time was a huge floor in a temple that had a very intricate design rendered in tiny mosaic pieces. I know, I know, nothing like that has ever been found by modern archaeologists, but that’s simply because they haven’t found it yet. I spent so many years on that project that my knees simply ossified; I had to be lifted off the floor after a day’s hard labor and carried off to the place where I was bathed, dressed in night clothes, fed and given copious amounts of beer before being trundled off to bed.
Initially I was in charge of the project and quickly discovered that none of my apprentices had the required amount of skill. After all, who would want to spend years on his knees putting tiny pieces of stone and ceramic in wet lime in an exacting pattern? We didn’t have projectors or lasers or anything but our instincts to guide our placement. Only I could do it right, I thought, so I took on the entire project myself. It took almost twenty years to finish, and that huge amount of time was approved by the pharaoh because he was young and I had convinced him that I was the only one who would really get it right; it would be finished well before he died and he would get his name on the final product. I was totally forgotten of course, but then I wasn’t Pharaoh.
Oh well. At least the project was well done. Now all that has to happen is for it to be discovered. And since you read about it here first, you’ll know that I was the guy who did the deed. Thank you in advance for your accolades. Much appreciated. Now for a beer.