I spent a large part of this holiday weekend with family in northern Indiana. Saturday night included a bonfire with s'mores, Sunday included juicy grilled chicken, Butterfinger dessert (a concoction so good that it must include an illegal substance), and hillbilly golf (the next 'it' event at the Olympics), and today included two very different trips to the Shipshewana Flea Market.
My sister and I took an early morning trip and whipped through the 900+ vendor flea market in 1 1/2 hours. It was relatively quiet, we parked in the first row, and I purchased a 1985 Goonies character glass with Sloth on it.
That's right; I'm a rock star.
I returned an hour later with my stepmom, a friend visiting from Florida, and her three-year-old daughter to face the largest crowd I've seen at the flea market ... um ... ever. We parked in the back "vendor" parking lot and I nearly maimed several people simply getting to the booths.
Question: Why is it that "Oh, look Edna, isn't that sweet" must be accompanied by said Edna wandering slowly and aimlessly into the center of the row before halting completely to look around with slightly glazed eyes? Or better yet, a family of four or more doing the same. These people move as if their winder is winded and they are destined to grind slowly to a halt ... directly in front of me. Always ... directly in front of me. Oh, except the eerie old man in the white hat who decided to fondle the three-year-old's head as if directing her away from us when he thought we weren't watching! Pappy nearly got knee'd.
The wee one with us managed just several rows before it was clear that she just wasn't going to make it. So, we headed to the produce row for some fruit, jam, and homemade ice cream then crawled in traffic to JoJo's Pretzels downtown in the Davis Mercantile. The pretzels were amazing as usual and my stepmom treated us to blended mochas as well. Ice cream, pretzels, and mochas, oh my! Our sugar level buzzing, we nevertheless headed to the elevator to ride up and see the fully-restored 1906 Carousel on the Mercantile's top floor.
The four of us cram into the elevator with several other people and my stepmom pushes the floor button, the doors close, and the following 30-second Twilight Zone episode then punctuated our midday Shipshewana visit:
[Disembodied voice] "Hello? Hello?!"
We look at each other dumbfounded and see that the phone button in the elevator is blinking.
I immediately accuse my stepmom of a digit mishap: "What did you PUSH!!??"
"I didn't push that!"
[Disembodied voice] "Hello?? Hello????!!?"
I say, "Are you sure?" as I push the 'cancel call' button several times.
[Disembodied voice] "Hello?? Hellooooooo??"
I gave up. "Hellooo?"
[Disembodied voice] "Hello. Are the shops in the Mercantile open?"
I answer, "Yes, they are."
[Disembodied voice] "Is the whole town open today?"
"Yes, it is."
[Disembodied voice] "Oh good! Thank you!"
*Ding* as the doors open.
Theories? How did a customer service call, or ANY call for that matter, get transferred INTO the elevator? And what did the caller think was going on at the other end (our end) of that call?
(260) 768-7300 if you figure out that answer 'cause the Mercantile is looking into it - or if you just have any questions about the shops or special events.