Observations
I park in a parking garage, usually the same floor and relatively the same spot every weekday. The garage is in the downtown area, so during the week it is all us corporate types, and on the weekends its used for club-goer parking. When you are standing there waiting for the elevator to arrive, you have nothing else to do but stare at the wall. I have counted the spiderwebs, memorized the graffiti and pondered why anyone would willingly park on the roof level. I have also examined every inch of the doors and space surrounding them, in case I ever need that second career as an elevator operator. The door is painted this awful shade of pale green, and the frame around the elevator door stands out from the wall, so a little shelf about 3 inches wide exists above the doors.
After about six months of parking here, I started to notice that every so often, there would be little ... things, tokens, what have you, left on this shelf. One morning in particular there was a rose there. Mostly wilted, it had once been a beautiful shade of coral-pink. I couldn't help but wonder about it as I stood there waiting for the car to arrive. Who had left it there? Was it on purpose, like the recipient didn't want to accept it but couldn't bear to throw it away? Was it some drunk sorority girl who had put there for a minute while she tried to fish her keys out of her bag and forgot it? The more I created a backstory surrounding it, the more it appealed to me. I ended up having to go back to my car to get the camera I have lately begun to keep with me and photograph it.
That rose pic was the beginning of something kind of interesting. Ever since that day, I now look forward to going to work almost with pleasure, in anticipation of what the previous night's elevator occupants have left. Since that day, I've photographed a wide variety of detritus. Uncountable varieties of beer cans and bottles, a syringe, a love note to "Sara;" one day, there were even six condoms, still in their wrappers, all lined up leaning against the wall.
I decided I couldn't be an observer any longer, I had to take part in whatever secret society was using this shelf as a means of communication. One Monday morning, after a weekend spent in psychotropia, I added a spent nitrous cartridge to the shelf. I checked on the way home Monday afternoon, yep, it was still there. It remained on the shelf, undisturbed, throughout the week. On my way home Friday, I began to wonder if I had somehow upset the natural balance of things, that my tampering with the shelf had rendered it unusable.
The following Monday morning I checked the shelf. And there it was, confirmation that I had done the right thing. Nestled there, end to end with my dead whippet, was another dead whippet. The new whippet was blue, compared to the dull steel color of the one I had used. And on it was a phone number and the name "Mike." What do you think, should I call?
After about six months of parking here, I started to notice that every so often, there would be little ... things, tokens, what have you, left on this shelf. One morning in particular there was a rose there. Mostly wilted, it had once been a beautiful shade of coral-pink. I couldn't help but wonder about it as I stood there waiting for the car to arrive. Who had left it there? Was it on purpose, like the recipient didn't want to accept it but couldn't bear to throw it away? Was it some drunk sorority girl who had put there for a minute while she tried to fish her keys out of her bag and forgot it? The more I created a backstory surrounding it, the more it appealed to me. I ended up having to go back to my car to get the camera I have lately begun to keep with me and photograph it.
That rose pic was the beginning of something kind of interesting. Ever since that day, I now look forward to going to work almost with pleasure, in anticipation of what the previous night's elevator occupants have left. Since that day, I've photographed a wide variety of detritus. Uncountable varieties of beer cans and bottles, a syringe, a love note to "Sara;" one day, there were even six condoms, still in their wrappers, all lined up leaning against the wall.
I decided I couldn't be an observer any longer, I had to take part in whatever secret society was using this shelf as a means of communication. One Monday morning, after a weekend spent in psychotropia, I added a spent nitrous cartridge to the shelf. I checked on the way home Monday afternoon, yep, it was still there. It remained on the shelf, undisturbed, throughout the week. On my way home Friday, I began to wonder if I had somehow upset the natural balance of things, that my tampering with the shelf had rendered it unusable.
The following Monday morning I checked the shelf. And there it was, confirmation that I had done the right thing. Nestled there, end to end with my dead whippet, was another dead whippet. The new whippet was blue, compared to the dull steel color of the one I had used. And on it was a phone number and the name "Mike." What do you think, should I call?