More enlightenment from the hallway’s mortar
Heard from the hallway: I’m really a very simple guy. Things build. It builds.
Though I couldn’t see him I think the speaker was the orange-face fellow in the chronic cardboard business suit.
Recently the workplace started a valet service which pushed parking space for the employees across the street and a country’s length away. I don’t mind this. I am congenially peripatetic.
Having observed for the past couple months, I conclude that the valet girl is not real. She looks suspiciously like every amusement park ride worker of the female variety: sunny pony-tailed hair, khaki pants, white shirt tucked in, slim and athletic figure, golden-tanned skin, sneakers clean and sporty.
Yesterday I realized that every morning she is standing in front of the building next to her valet podium when I arrive; she is still there when I leave in the evening. I have begun saying Good morning to her and Good night. I have concluded that it is not possible she is real. She is the Eternal Valet.
(Don't ask me what "real" is. I've still got my lab working on it.)
Though she is not real, she is less unsettling than the librarian whom I realized was a character from a Lovecraft novel. Disguised as a quaint elderly woman with a British accent who listens to classical music all day, she brings her lunch in a brown paper bag and spouts the history of the medical library number system.
Therefore, something gruesome must be lurking behind that desk.
Things build. It builds. Snakes and soda bubbles will one day burst out from the hospital’s innards, exposing sacred secrets. I’m tapped in.
Though I couldn’t see him I think the speaker was the orange-face fellow in the chronic cardboard business suit.
Recently the workplace started a valet service which pushed parking space for the employees across the street and a country’s length away. I don’t mind this. I am congenially peripatetic.
Having observed for the past couple months, I conclude that the valet girl is not real. She looks suspiciously like every amusement park ride worker of the female variety: sunny pony-tailed hair, khaki pants, white shirt tucked in, slim and athletic figure, golden-tanned skin, sneakers clean and sporty.
Yesterday I realized that every morning she is standing in front of the building next to her valet podium when I arrive; she is still there when I leave in the evening. I have begun saying Good morning to her and Good night. I have concluded that it is not possible she is real. She is the Eternal Valet.
(Don't ask me what "real" is. I've still got my lab working on it.)
Though she is not real, she is less unsettling than the librarian whom I realized was a character from a Lovecraft novel. Disguised as a quaint elderly woman with a British accent who listens to classical music all day, she brings her lunch in a brown paper bag and spouts the history of the medical library number system.
Therefore, something gruesome must be lurking behind that desk.
Things build. It builds. Snakes and soda bubbles will one day burst out from the hospital’s innards, exposing sacred secrets. I’m tapped in.
2 Comments:
Nice post. Got a surreal 'Malkovich' office feel, or something out of The Avengers. Keep eavesdropping and searching for clues x
Thanks, Benjamin. Malkovich office--I'll take that. I'll be sure to keep listening. It's the only reason I open the door to my office. I'll get to the bottom of this operation for sure!
finnegan--thanks for dropping by. You may be right about the symphony. I'll drop in and ask her on Monday. Just before I'm squeezed to death by one of her lizard legs. I've seen you elsewhere...transience-wise maybe. I'll visit you.
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