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September 13, 2005


Shaula Evans

The calls remind me of when, in college, we used to threaten to call up the Physical Plant and say "Hello, is this the Metaphysical Plant? Help! I have a hole in my cosmology."

Only, of course, we didn't make the calls. But it still made us laugh. (Yeah, I know--I hung out with liberal art flakes. It was great.)

Mr. Walking Death is fabulous, though. Wow.

My brother, who is an alternate reality in his own right, would have enjoyed the phone call. And it wouldn't have phased him in the least.

People like Mr. Walking Death always remind me, somehow, of the stories from Ancient Greece and the Near East about hospitality gods--perhaps civilization's earliest Mystery Shoppers--who would come down to earth and then, if you didn't offer them shelter and dinner, would smite your village. Or something like that.

I have always been happiest in jobs/situations where I could treat people like that with courtesy and patience. And hey--I haven't been smitten down yet.

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