Tuesday, March 30, 2010


A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to change some wording on one of the large signs that we have posted along the street that runs in front of the Sprocket. It took me quite a while, the sign being quite large, so I was out there long enough for several people to stop their cars and ask me questions while I was working.

I didn't mind, of course. I was in a good mood that morning. Also, dealing with the public is perfectly acceptable in small doses, so I answered all questions as well as I could and told them to enjoy their day. After a while, I noticed that a man was actually walking across the street to come and talk to me. I wasn't too alarmed, because we were by a street and in full view of the interstate, but I'd much rather not be one on one with a large dude when there aren't any other people close by. He seemed to be a nice man. He told me all about his vacation and that he was from Canada. We chatted for a while, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to start his visit to the museum. I really needed to get back to work, but I couldn't tell him to go away, so he just stood there and talked to me. He stood there and talked for so long, in fact, that I started to kind of drift away in my mind. I know how rude that is, but I couldn't help myself. It wasn't that he was boring, exactly, but I was starting to get kind of uncomfortable.

While in Kelly-Land (the place in my mind where I go when I'm not listening), I thought to myself "You know, this guy could be a weirdo. We're standing right next to the street, but he could beat you to death with his tripod and drag you to his van without much trouble. There aren't that many people driving by. What would you do?"

I reached into the pocket of my lab coat and made sure my scissors was still there. It was purely instinctive. I suppose I just wanted to make sure I had them in case I needed to stab this guy in the face. I thought I was being covert, but when I happened to look down at some point, I realized I was totally clutching the scissors like a weapon. I had taken them out of my pocket and was holding them in such a white-knuckled way that it probably looked as if I were about to run the guy through. He left fairly quickly after that. I tried to look as if I needed the scissors to finish working on the sign, but it was kind of obvious I didn't need them for what I was doing.

This place has made me paranoid.

1 comment:

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