Surreal

sur·re·al

[səˈrēəl]

ADJECTIVE

1. having the qualities of surrealism; bizarre: 

   "a surreal mix of fact and fantasy"

   synonyms: unreal · bizarre · unusual · weird · strange · freakish · 

   
   

   
   

   I felt surreal was vastly overused word.  Actresses have surreal experiences, politicians and anyone interviewed on the street have surreal experiences, "whatever  was surreal".  I never used the word....until that day.

   
   

   I headed to work with no breakfast and a headache as usual.  The museum where I work is on park land (leased to the museum for one dollar a year for 99 years or something like that). It is not in the best part of town which is why the museum has been able to build such a beautiful facility.  I go by Sonic each morning to get a Dr Pepper with double shots of vanilla and cream.

   
   

   I pulled into the Sonic.   A spot was open next to a very old burgundy Suburban, as I pulled into the spot, all the doors burst open, men dressed in black with hoods over their heads, jumped out. I could see guns in their hands, no it couldn't be , but yes I did.....guns.  They took off running to the other side of the Sonic, jumping the little table in the middle and started screaming, "Out of the car! Out of the car! Out of the car!"  I was still trying to determine if there were guns in their hands....sitting in the middle of the drive.  The four thugs in black grabbed the two guys in the car, threw them on the ground and handcuffed them.  Then they picked them up and threw them in the back of the car.  A black truck had come up behind their car and suddenly it lit-up like a Christmas tree. The black truck took off, one of the hooded men jumped into he driver's seat and took off after the black truck.  As two of the men ran back to the burgundy suburban I noticed that there were only openings for their eyes in the hoods.  They jumped in to the old SUV and took off after the car and the black truck.  I just sat there shaking. What just happened? I could feel the adrenaline surging through me.  What did just happen?  Guns. Lights. Flashing. Handcuffs. Police.  The thugs were the police. 

   
   

   

   I got to the museum, still in disbelief, still shaking.  Nothing out of order here...nothing had happened.  I felt like I had experienced a bad dream.  Here though, everything was normal.   I turned on all the exhibits, and started my now ordinary day.

   
   Sitting at my desk working I felt a presence and looked up.   He stood there looking at me in sort of a dumb manner.  He was portly and had curly hair, cut in a mullet.  The old sweater he was wearing had white on the shoulder like he had leaned up against a freshly painted white wall.  The sweater, a bit too long was stretched tightly around his large belly.  His face was smooth like a woman's.
   "Would you like to tour the museum?" , I asked
   "Uggggggh, no,"  he said in a very soft, deep voice that was almost a whisper. "I'm Pauuuuuuuuuuuul."

   "Okay, what can I do for you?" He stares at me looking rather  hopeless.  

   "Weeeeell I am from Someplace secuuuuurity and I have come to check your secuuuuurity  system."          I quickly showed him where all the security computers were, thinking he would busy himself with his task. But instead he proceeded to come back to my desk with me and sit down in the chair to the side with the security monitor.

   
   

   I know nothing about the security system computers.  I told him that, but he continued to ask me more and more questions.  Then he started talking about using a wireless mouse.  I showed him my mouse was wireless, but he kept saying we needed more of them.  I finally told him he would have to come back when our director was in.  I told him she had a very busy schedule and he should call to make sure she would be here.  With his wireless mouse he played with the security monitor by my desk, continuing to tell me the wonders of his wireless mouse.  Finally realizing I was going to be of no help whatsoever, he said he would caaaaalll Lacee before he came next time.  I gave him her card and he was gone.

   
   

   With "Pauuuuul" gone. I continued working on the lesson plans for upcoming school tours.  The phone continued to ring, everyone wanted to talk to the director.  When Lacee arrived back at the museum, the phone stopped ringing.  She has a totally open door policy.  Anyone coming by to talk to her can walk right into her office...or almost anyone.

   
   

   Finally quiet, I was getting my activities planned, when a weird rancid smell started to permeate the room...I heard a man's voice say, "I am here to see Lacee."  I pointed to her office, but before he could step that way Lacee was in front of him leading him away.  As the two of them walked away I got a really good look at him.  He was wearing a Carthart cold weather jumpsuit, it was soiled with....something or somethings that smelled worse than the car with a dead body in it, Jim and I had parked next to one time.  As I looked across the museum, Lacee was leading him to the catering kitchen, he following her holding the legs of his smelly jumpsuit up and kind of waddling. I jumped up and searched for some air freshener...all I could find was some Pledge furniture polish, so I sprayed it.

   
   

   When Lacee came back, I said, "Who was that?!!"

   "He is here to clean the grease trap.  He will bring you the bill, sign it and breathe shallow."

   SURREAL