Pamela D. Lloyd (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pameladlloyd) wrote2008-07-28 06:31 pm
pameladlloyd) wrote2008-07-28 06:31 pm
Entry tags:
[Locked - Friends Only] It All Gets Stranger and Stranger
Whatever's going on, this is bigger than just me and it may just be chance that I was talking to an Interdimensional Registry Triage operator when I shifted. When I got to the IRB offices, there were crowds of people around the building. So many that they were spilling off the sidewalks and into the street, blocking traffic. It was hard to tell, since I was so far back, but what I heard from the people around me was that the doors were locked. I just stood there, waiting, since I didn't know what else to do. About an hour after I'd arrived, I heard a rumor that people with appointments were being granted admittance, one at a time. Like I said last night, I didn't have an appointment, but I did have my registry receipt with me, so I started working my way to the front. It was awful. Like walking through a refugee camp, everyone looking lost and disconnected. I've never seen so many miserable faces in my life.
Nor, have I ever seen so much diversity of dress. There were people in business suits, t-shirts and jeans, silk sarongs, saris, togas, Renaissance outfits that looked far too real to be SCA garb (although there a few of those, too), and outfits I can't even begin to describe; and while a few people's clothes were neat and pressed, more looked as if they'd slept in the clothes they were wearing. I heard things, too. About people suddenly finding themselves here, out of place, or back in place after years of believing they belonged somewhere else. There was one woman, holding a red-faced crying baby, who kept saying that even if she belonged here, the baby didn't, as she'd just been admiring the poor little thing and hadn't had a chance to hand her back to her mother before she found herself in this dimension.
As I made my way forward, I became aware of others also pressing through the crowd, some with papers clutched in their hands, others clinging tightly to purses or with a hand over a pocket. As we got closer to the entrance, we were naturally forced closer together, so that we formed a kind of wedge. It was never my intention, but somehow I got pushed to the front. The guards at the door--there were about ten of them, and they all managed to look at once tough and dangerous and scared half out of their wits--were glaring at me, as if I was some kind of ring leader. I dragged my receipt out of my purse and held it out, too nervous to say anything, although I did try to smile. At which point, this little guy in a drab gray suit stepped out of the shadows and took my paper. I swear, he was the clerkiest man I've ever seen; he was about four feet tall, with a balding head, a slight hunch over a bit of a pot belly, and wire frame glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Well, he read over the receipt at least twice and I think he was looking for a reason to turn me away, but the people in back of me were pretty restless. He kept glancing up at them, then back at me, and finally at the paper again. I was trembling by this time, certain he was going to turn me away and afraid of the crowd at my back, when he abruptly handed me the paper and turned to one of the guards, telling her to lead me in. She did, taking me over to a side entrance I hadn't even noticed. Behind me, the little man must have been much quicker with the others, because about ten people followed me in.
You'd think that with all the scads of people waiting outside, it would be empty inside, but instead, there was hardly room to breathe, there were so many people in there. I spent the day standing in line, waiting my turn at one of the windows. There were no seats, although I could see marks on the floor and holes that looked like bolts had been screwed into them that suggested there'd been rows of seats very recently. Twice, I had to ask people near me to hold my place in line, just so I could slip away to the Ladies room (and I'm not even going to begin to mention the lines there). Each time, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to find my spot again, or they'd refuse to let me back in, but we were all in this together, since they couldn't manage a trip to the bathroom without help, either.
But, all my worry was for nothing. I was still a good twenty feet back from the windows by the end of the day. The IRB staff members behind the thick glass windows pulled shades down at five p.m. precisely, so we couldn't see them anymore, and an announcement came over the PA system, telling us to all go home and come back in the morning. I felt like Dorothy in the Emerald City, with the voice of the Great Oz booming at her to turn back, and like her, I turned and dragged myself out of there. Of course, she had allies nearby, who helped her to find her way home. I can only hope that I do, too.
I'm lucky. At least I still seem to have a home here. My house in this dimension is just like the one I was in, but I seem to live alone, which feels really strange. No husband, no kids, no dogs, not even any cats. And what about whoever was living here before I was transferred? Apparently, she was one of my analogues, as the clothes in the closet all fit and I found a picture of her with her children sitting on the dresser in the bedroom. It could have been a picture of me, except she has four kids, all clearly hers. Two of kids, the oldest boys, look like my sons, but there were two younger kids, a girl and a boy, that I've never seen before. But, I don't see any sign that any of them live in the house, now. Nor do I see any sign of a husband. Wherever she and her family are, I hope they're together. This is all such a strange mess.
Nor, have I ever seen so much diversity of dress. There were people in business suits, t-shirts and jeans, silk sarongs, saris, togas, Renaissance outfits that looked far too real to be SCA garb (although there a few of those, too), and outfits I can't even begin to describe; and while a few people's clothes were neat and pressed, more looked as if they'd slept in the clothes they were wearing. I heard things, too. About people suddenly finding themselves here, out of place, or back in place after years of believing they belonged somewhere else. There was one woman, holding a red-faced crying baby, who kept saying that even if she belonged here, the baby didn't, as she'd just been admiring the poor little thing and hadn't had a chance to hand her back to her mother before she found herself in this dimension.
As I made my way forward, I became aware of others also pressing through the crowd, some with papers clutched in their hands, others clinging tightly to purses or with a hand over a pocket. As we got closer to the entrance, we were naturally forced closer together, so that we formed a kind of wedge. It was never my intention, but somehow I got pushed to the front. The guards at the door--there were about ten of them, and they all managed to look at once tough and dangerous and scared half out of their wits--were glaring at me, as if I was some kind of ring leader. I dragged my receipt out of my purse and held it out, too nervous to say anything, although I did try to smile. At which point, this little guy in a drab gray suit stepped out of the shadows and took my paper. I swear, he was the clerkiest man I've ever seen; he was about four feet tall, with a balding head, a slight hunch over a bit of a pot belly, and wire frame glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Well, he read over the receipt at least twice and I think he was looking for a reason to turn me away, but the people in back of me were pretty restless. He kept glancing up at them, then back at me, and finally at the paper again. I was trembling by this time, certain he was going to turn me away and afraid of the crowd at my back, when he abruptly handed me the paper and turned to one of the guards, telling her to lead me in. She did, taking me over to a side entrance I hadn't even noticed. Behind me, the little man must have been much quicker with the others, because about ten people followed me in.
You'd think that with all the scads of people waiting outside, it would be empty inside, but instead, there was hardly room to breathe, there were so many people in there. I spent the day standing in line, waiting my turn at one of the windows. There were no seats, although I could see marks on the floor and holes that looked like bolts had been screwed into them that suggested there'd been rows of seats very recently. Twice, I had to ask people near me to hold my place in line, just so I could slip away to the Ladies room (and I'm not even going to begin to mention the lines there). Each time, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to find my spot again, or they'd refuse to let me back in, but we were all in this together, since they couldn't manage a trip to the bathroom without help, either.
But, all my worry was for nothing. I was still a good twenty feet back from the windows by the end of the day. The IRB staff members behind the thick glass windows pulled shades down at five p.m. precisely, so we couldn't see them anymore, and an announcement came over the PA system, telling us to all go home and come back in the morning. I felt like Dorothy in the Emerald City, with the voice of the Great Oz booming at her to turn back, and like her, I turned and dragged myself out of there. Of course, she had allies nearby, who helped her to find her way home. I can only hope that I do, too.
I'm lucky. At least I still seem to have a home here. My house in this dimension is just like the one I was in, but I seem to live alone, which feels really strange. No husband, no kids, no dogs, not even any cats. And what about whoever was living here before I was transferred? Apparently, she was one of my analogues, as the clothes in the closet all fit and I found a picture of her with her children sitting on the dresser in the bedroom. It could have been a picture of me, except she has four kids, all clearly hers. Two of kids, the oldest boys, look like my sons, but there were two younger kids, a girl and a boy, that I've never seen before. But, I don't see any sign that any of them live in the house, now. Nor do I see any sign of a husband. Wherever she and her family are, I hope they're together. This is all such a strange mess.
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A good thing, too. This morning upon my return I learned that some of the people at the very front of the line did try to put up a stand and say that since they'd clearly been in line before closing time, they had a right to service. Instead, the guards moved in and subdued them.
As to what actually happened to them then, mostly all I got were second-hand rumors, which made the whole thing sound like a bloodbath. But a woman standing next to me in line told me she'd been there (well, near the doors and clearly on her way out, so nothing happened to her) and that the guards had used their rifles as clubs, then the little clerkish man in gray had unlocked one of the doors that says "No Admittance" and the guards dragged them away. I shudder to think about what may have happened to them, as no one seems to have seen any of them since.