4/22/2008
I am a lucky guy. Bizarre and freakish things happen to me with regularity. Long-timne readers of this blog can recall any number of idiotic or surreal happenings that make me, like Scooby Do, go "Whuuuuh???" What you have to do in a life like mine is try to avoid getting jaded. Like, weird things come along, and you have to really be clear (not in a Scientology way) to receive them.
Take today, f'r instance.
So I'm done with my morning class. I go up the elevator to my office. We are in a building I call The Waffle, because it looks like a cement waffle. If you're driving down 290 tward Chicago, and you look up on the right at the Racine exit, you'll see this waffle and know I'm on the 19th floor thinking about buffalo and fumaroles. The Waffle (University Hall) is pretty weird on its own terms--it's designed to be an upside-down skyscraper. Tres moderne. It gets wider as it ascends. And, since it's in the East German Brutalist style of the entire campus, the windows--which could have awesome views of Chi--are all blocked off by cement sight-baffles so you can't see much at all. Neat-o!
So I get done with my minimal business, and I head for the elevator to go down. The elevator comes after a long wait. Doors open. There's a pleasant looking old guy in there. White hair. Nice business-casual clothes. Pressed into the far corner. Smiling.
I get in. Doors close. I realize he hasn't pushed a button. He's just, apparently, sort of riding around in the elevator. I push 1 and go to my opposite corner--you know how you do in elevators. You study the little screen that tells you what floor you're passing. As the doors close, you notice in your peripheral vision, the old guy is making odd little gestures with his hands. Sort of vague gestures.
So we start down. And the old guy steps up to me, about two inches from my right side, leans in, and starts whistling "Sentimental Journey" through his teeth. Into my ear. Before I can stab him in the eye with my umbrella, the car stops at the 16th floor. He hurries back to his corner like a spider and stands there smiling as two new people get on. When we reach the bottom, he doesn't get out, but stands there smiling as the doors close and he shoots back up.
I.... Well, gosh. Might as well face it--we live in a David Lynch movie. Every angel in heaven is a practical joker.
L
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Take today, f'r instance.
So I'm done with my morning class. I go up the elevator to my office. We are in a building I call The Waffle, because it looks like a cement waffle. If you're driving down 290 tward Chicago, and you look up on the right at the Racine exit, you'll see this waffle and know I'm on the 19th floor thinking about buffalo and fumaroles. The Waffle (University Hall) is pretty weird on its own terms--it's designed to be an upside-down skyscraper. Tres moderne. It gets wider as it ascends. And, since it's in the East German Brutalist style of the entire campus, the windows--which could have awesome views of Chi--are all blocked off by cement sight-baffles so you can't see much at all. Neat-o!
So I get done with my minimal business, and I head for the elevator to go down. The elevator comes after a long wait. Doors open. There's a pleasant looking old guy in there. White hair. Nice business-casual clothes. Pressed into the far corner. Smiling.
I get in. Doors close. I realize he hasn't pushed a button. He's just, apparently, sort of riding around in the elevator. I push 1 and go to my opposite corner--you know how you do in elevators. You study the little screen that tells you what floor you're passing. As the doors close, you notice in your peripheral vision, the old guy is making odd little gestures with his hands. Sort of vague gestures.
So we start down. And the old guy steps up to me, about two inches from my right side, leans in, and starts whistling "Sentimental Journey" through his teeth. Into my ear. Before I can stab him in the eye with my umbrella, the car stops at the 16th floor. He hurries back to his corner like a spider and stands there smiling as two new people get on. When we reach the bottom, he doesn't get out, but stands there smiling as the doors close and he shoots back up.
I.... Well, gosh. Might as well face it--we live in a David Lynch movie. Every angel in heaven is a practical joker.
L
# posted by Luis @ 5:20 PM 
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