Link had me restocking the vending bear today. This is way more fun than it sounds. The work is methodical, and I like how the cans are lukewarm when I put them in, and then dependent on the drink turn hot or cold within the furry innards. How the bear’s eyes glow even though their voice is off, like I am feeding him a meal.
The restock fixes me in one position. Guests sometimes use this as an opportunity to ask me questions, or get directions to a specific tank. I sometimes apologize for spoiling the magical illusion of the bears. All part of the service.
But today a guest went a little further.
A man in a bowler hat wandered over, and started a full conversation. He stood over me the whole time, his large nostrils visible throughout.
At first we had some standard chat about his favorite parts of the parks, and if we had found any interesting new arrivals. But then he got onto talking about the Butter Mouse. Both of them. Why the killer had chosen such a strange nickname. What picking an alien animal from the Stitch might mean.
‘The Butter Mouse is a relatively new arrival, why would they pick that?’ The man said. ‘What could have set them off?’
All this nonsense, and standing over me the whole time.
I try to be nice to the chattier guests. Passion lead me here, and I have a responsibility to pass that on. If the conversation gets too meandering I can focus on the task in hand, and stack cans or clean glass until the person gets the hint.
But the man in the bowler hat kept going and going. Talking about the words imprinted on the ground, and the melting metal, and what leads the police are delving into. My veneer of politeness slipped, and in the end I went from grunts to loading cans in silence.
By the time he stopped talking, and said goodbye, I had filled the bear without response for over two minutes. I hope I do not get in trouble.
Perhaps he is affected too. People are rattled at the moment. But he spoke to me like I had some sort of authority. How because the Butter Mouse lives here, I have power over this situation.
Thank goodness Deni was on an oil change today.
I visited my Butter Mouse afterwards. It was clip day after all. Calmed down watching her swim. Images of beaches and sunsets and laughing businessmen flashed on the screen.
She must miss her home. I know I would. Let’s hope she understands that we are looking after her. Planning her route home. That she does not need to worry.
The thought of her vanishing through that diamond makes my breath fail.
Clip: Similar visuals to before, although I cannot tell who the cartoon figures are. But what is that breathing? And is that a whistle of a tune from another world?