This week my work travels have taken me to a good old fashioned mental institution. I’m getting the most unsettling feeling I’m actually IN Shutter Island. It’s not actually on an island, obviously, but apparently mental institutions built in the 1800s all look the same. There’s razor wire all around the beautiful old brick buildings and not a soul to be seen anywhere outside. When we returned from lunch, we found out someone had cut power to the building and may have started to freak out ever so slightly. “This is just like a scary movie! Haha! OH GOD.” (There was a crew a few buildings over working on…something vague…who accidentally dug right through a power line – or at least that’s what they’re telling us.)
|A drawing of the administration building that hangs in the hallway|
It’s turning out to be a banner week regardless, as they’re being very accommodating of my pumping – first setting me up in the conference room, then deciding I shouldn’t have to worry about the meeting schedule and hunting down an unused room on another floor. Look at my new room!
It was empty and they set the place up for me – commandeering chairs and a table, complete with fake flowers.
I was rather geeked about not being told to pump in the bathroom until I realized perhaps being super excited about your own private room in a mental institution isn’t entirely rational.
The worst part was when I tried to leave the room and found I was (seemingly) locked in. At that point I decided maybe I should seriously consider the possibility I was in some sort of Shutter Island situation. I mean, you never know, right? Thankfully, it turns out I just hadn’t been forceful enough with the handle and I made it out of the room alive.
My coworkers are acting kind of odd today, though, so I’m not ruling out the possibility they may be therapists in disguise.
(Sorry, you had to have seen the movie to get that one.)