Weekend of Wonder

I've just put my laundry in the drier and emptied the lint trap. I think the person before me used it to dry a sheep. I've never seen such a thick and heftily solid brick of white lint in my life.

Yesterday I went to Macy's to buy myself some sunglasses, as the little nose pads fell off of my old ones last week. I went into Macy's upstairs, and took the escalator down to the glasses department. When I was done, I took the escalator back upstairs to the vortex department. I walked all the way around the outside edge of the store without finding a single door. Then I walked around again, but in the opposite direction. Still no door. Then I tried exiting via the glasses department, and sure enough found the exit to the mall's lower level.

The thing is, I know you can get in from the top floor, and I know you can get in from the bottom floor, but from the looks of it, there isn't room for a windowless, doorless floor in between. Some magic mezzanine of terror. When I was little I wrote a story about a regular looking box that had an infinite amount of space inside. You could fit whales, houses, Rosanne, anything you wanted, and there would be room for more. Little did I know that the technology exists to make such a box possible, and it's been harnessed by Macy's.

The last, but most disturbing part of my Weekend of Wonder was a prank(?) call I got last night at about 1am. This guy called up and was either pretending to be stereotypically black, or actually was. I'll try to reconstruct the conversation.

Me: Hello?
Him: Amos? (Pronounced A-mose)
Me: No, he's not here. Can I take a message?
Him: Are you black?
Me: Um, noooo.
Him: Well, he's a black man, are you too?
Me: Oh, I see, (unenthusiastically) ha ha. (Amos's last name is Blackman.)
Him: What's up? Are you chilling on the flip side?
Me: Um. I'm not sure.
Him: What do you mean you aren't sure? Are you, or are you not chilling on the flip side?
Me: Well, that's just not in my lexicon. (Who says lexicon, really?)
Him: My buddy says you stole his spinners.
Me: Um, nope.
Him: He says you stole them. I'll put him on.
Guy 2: I hear you stole my spinners.
Me: Nope.
Guy 2: Yeah, someone told me you stole them, and are using them as a hat and to drink soup out of.
Me: Nope.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's that? Are you fucking with me?
Guy 3: Black power, all the black men unite.
Guy 3: Who's that? Is that Amos?
Me: No, it's just me here.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's saying that?
Me: Ok, well, it sounds like you guys have enough people to keep this conversation going. (I hang up.)

The really disturbing bit is that they knew the name and the number. It's possible that they were just flipping through the white pages and found us, but either way, I got prepared. I locked the door, called *69 and got some oldish sounding woman, and preparer the most terrible noise I could find to play through the phone if they called back. They didn't.

What a weird weekend.