3.28.02 MMM, TASTES LIKE…
San Francisco moment:
I walked to work this morning. Taste of Leather is having a Spring clearance sale.
Lane is working on his 20 things project and needs help. He wants you to send him a short set of directions (walk until you see a tree, turn left, etc.), and when he gets to the end of your instructions, he’ll take a picture. Here’s the page with the details.
I participated in the last 20 things swap. My artlet is the thumbnail in the top left corner. (I know I posted this awhile ago, but I took the link down because the site wasn’t officially open for the viewing public. Oops.)
Boy 1: Where are you from?
Me: San Francisco.
Boy 1: I’ve visited San Francisco.
Boy 2: Is that a euphemism?
I’m afraid of heights. My new dentist is in an old building with an elevator that has mesh walls. I didn’t realize the elevator was of the see-through variety until I’d already climbed aboard, pushed my floor, and begun to hum. By the time I noticed the swaying cables of the elevator next to me, it was too late. I was well on my way to the sixth floor.
I concentrated on breathing, closed my eyes, and clutched the railing behind me. The elevator stopped. I stepped forward to the doors, but they didn’t open. I pressed the convenient little “door open” button. Nope. I pressed it with authority. The button ignored me. I watched as the elevator next to me zoomed past with its passengers. They stopped, and disembarked, about five feet above me. My transparent elevator was dangling between floors.
As panic rose in my throat, I pressed the alarm bell. Nothing. I pressed the intercom. Nothing. I glanced around nervously, then yelled at the person behind me on the stairwell. (I could see him, you see. Just as I could see the swaying, decaying cables above me, and the 300-foot drop below me.) He didn’t respond. After about five minutes, another elevator zoomed past me. I yelled out to its occupants.
The elevator stopped between floors!
Are you serious?
A few minutes (hours, millennia) later, the security guard ascended the stairs behind me.
Well, I’ll be. There you are.
I didn’t see you get in. I would have stopped you. They’re doing repair work.
What? What’s wrong with the elevator?
Wasn’t working right.
How? Like, what’s wrong? I mean, OK Can they turn it back on?
Maybe, I’ll see.
Twenty minutes later, I was lying supine on the floor, sweating. The lights came back on, the floor started to hum, and the elevator edged upward.
By the time I got in to my dentist appointment, I was shaking. I had some enamel drilled and some plastic items put in my mouth that weren’t there before. It was almost comforting.
On the way out, the dentist was headed for lunch. He held the elevator door open for me.
I took the stairs.
Last night there was a woman on Antiques Roadshow who had very long hair. She had, in fact, never cut her hair. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this woman was fascinated with hair and hair-related products. She had a collection of jewelry that had been made from hair. Other people’s hair. The hair of dead strangers. As I wrestled with my gag reflex, the appraiser told her the collection was valued at $4,000 to $6,000.
When I was in Junior High, I was looking to fill an elective and the guidance counselor cajoled me into taking an emotional-sensitivity class that she’d developed. Whenever one student said something nasty to another, the counselor would snap, I heard a put down. Two put-ups, please. Whereupon, the kid would laugh long and hard, then find a way to disguise two more insults as compliments. Nice pants, I’m way into rainbow stripes. I also like your eye shadow. It’s really purple. Then we closed our eyes and listened to Simon and Garfunkel.