I used to work at this art store in a mall. Well, one summer the mall had this exhibition of animitronic dinosaurs. All summer long the whole place was crazy with the honking and screaming and chirping of these mechanical dinosaurs, not to mention the burpy-farty air compressors that ran them (scientists now believe that dinosaurs became extinct because noisy compressors prevented them from hiding from predators). Twards the end of that summer I was really sick of those things and was so familiar with their repetitive patterns (I used to make my girlfriend laugh by mimicking them in exact time: “Graaaawnk! Rawwwwwar! Psst!! Gwaaaarrr!! Honk! Psst!”).
So anyway, one morning I was walking around the mall before opening, and I see that in one of these dinosaur displays (Pachechepholosaurus, that one that looks like a cross between friar Tuck and a chicken) the little placard with the dinosaur’s name and information had fallen off it’s little easel. So, boy scout that I am, I decide to fix it. I reach over the railing to pick it up, and discover quite dramatically that <b><i>the railing isn’t actually bolted into the floor!</b></i>
Now, I’m not sure if I can properly describe this situation. First off, upon the shocking discovery that this railing won’t support my weight, I fall foreword and release a fart that reverberates down the deserted mall, then, okay, Imagine doing that exercise where you touch your toes while standing up, now imagine doing that with a four foot metal fence pressed into your belly. That’s kinda’ what I looked like only a bit more splayed out, and (here’s the fun part) the fence is now leaning against the leg of a nine foot tall awkwardly balanced mechanical dinosaur, so I can’t just let myself fall foreword, lest I take the creature with me. And make no mistake it would have toppled, I had the whole thing shaking. So, I’m stuck in this awkward position. I can’t back up. Can’t go foreword.
There’s this weird phenomenon in California, Mallwalkers. Theses are groups of little old ladies who get together in sweat suits and little white sneakers and stroll around malls before opening time in the name of exercise. Weird. Well, one of the regulars, a frail little thing who drove one of those little electric old people scooters with the basket and whip antenna with a big flag on it turns the corner and scuttles down the hall towards me. I’m hoping to flag her down so she can get a guard or, I don’t know, maybe those Larks have a winch on them, I’m not all that picky at this point.
So I’m calling to her: “Er, ma’am? Ma’am? Excuse me? Ma’am? MA’AM? MA’AM? MA’AM!!”. She either doesn’t hear me, doesn’t want involved or thinks I’m just part of the display. She zips off to join the rest of the herd.
Anyway, three years later I’m rescued by a Hot Dog on a Stick girl who is kind enough to grab me by my belt and pull me back. I was so grateful I managed to not laugh at her outfit until she was well out of earshot.