‘It’s not so uncommon to seek thrills where thrills can be safely sought. Scary movies. Roller coasters. Strip clubs. Each comes near enough to the shape of danger to be satisfying to the majority and the price of entry is low.
The minority take it a little further and they sometimes pay a greater price.
‘The Exhibit of Household Risk’ falls into the latter category, but its location does it no favors. Those individuals risking travel through The Crease are usually inured to the petty dangers it further softens, and the thought of home further repels them.’
Harsh words by the Guide, if you ask me. I have no problem thinking of my home. I run nostalgic at times. But it’s true that the thought of going back, the thought of trying to resettle in my life before all this leaves me feeling… what? Shame maybe. If there is a mold of me there, I don’t think I would fit it anymore.
These are the thoughts that come to me as I slip my hand into garbage disposal that, according to the sign nearby, is absolutely functional. The switch for turning it on is just below the sign and a red glowing light further indicates that the system is powered. Thankfully, the switch is encased in a plexiglass box and further signage details various electric fail-safes that ‘The Exhibit’ has had installed behind the scenes. Breakers and such.
A map of ‘The Exhibit’ indicates that if I’m able to complete a series of tasks I’ll receive a free bumper sticker, and though I would never place a bumper sticker on my trailer, I can’t resist a thing that is free. The task here is to retrieve a wedding ring ‘dropped’ in the sink and I’m feeling around the blades, which I assume are artificially moistened at the beginning of each day, when the whole exhibit shudders and the motor roars to life and my eyes are leveled not at the switch but at the specs of the disposal which indicates it can process the appropriately cubed corpse of a pig in less than a minute, bones and all. Somehow I have enough time to imagine my ambulance ride to the hospital, the pain and then the shame of leaving discretely so I wouldn’t have to pay, the rest of my life without a left hand including a proposal by some faceless potential fiancé, before I realize there is no movement at all against my hand.
The exhibit stops shaking. The motor quiets. Sweat trickles down my back, and I recognize, after a beat, that it was all for show. A sound effect and some sort of industrial vibrating device.
I pull my hand out and step backward into an employee that has appeared behind me.
Sheepish, he ducks around my body and drops a gold ring into the drain. “Forgot to reset this one earlier.”
-traveler
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