A Colorful Experience

“Oh, sorry. I’m lost. I just got so caught up in the meeting, I got confused.” “No problem; it’s the other way. Can you manage?” “I’m fine.” I walked back, but spotted a set of open double doors leading to a room large enough to land a plane in. Each wall was a different color. The outburst of Barnum and Bailey crayon red, sky blue, green, and yellow dwarfed the beauty of the crown moldings. A six foot tall clown sculpture stood in the corner, between another fire place and set of tall French windows. The centerpiece of the room was a round table with a red and white checked tablecloth that looked like it came from a pizza parlor. A plastic pig wearing a chef’s hat sat atop the table. Bizarre sculptures made from plastic toys and dolls were scattered throughout the room. A black and white diner clock was sandwiched between two large clown paintings. When Amy said the apartment was like a circus, I thought she was kidding. I wondered if they ever tried to shoot anyone out of a cannon, or hung trapezes from the chandelier. “Who decorated this room, Ronald McDonald? Paintings by Grimace? Is this the Mayor McCheese dining salon?” I mumbled to myself. “Excuse me?” Oh,crap. “Whose artwork is this? It’s spectacular.” “It’s mine.” “Evelyn, you have a gift. I’ve never seen anything like it.” What a waste of a beautiful room. “Your apartment is gorgeous. You’ve done so much with it.” Too much. “Brandy and I chanted for 3 hours a day, for 3 months, to get it. We needed a place to hold the meetings. We got in under a special artists deal. This is a three bedroom. The rent is only three hundred dollars a month.” WHAT?! The others filtered into the room and started saying their goodbyes. I didn’t get to see the kitchen or bedrooms. Darn, darn, darn. “We’re having another meeting Thursday evening, 6:30. Can you make it?”asked Evelyn. “I’d love to.” I had to see the other rooms. I said goodbye to my new Buddhist friends, rode down the elevator with my new elevator attendant friend, took one last, longing look at the tragically unoccupied courtyard, sighed, and exited the building of my dreams. Did they really chant for three hours a day for three months? I believe they did. These people were deeply committed. Or just nuts.