This story about visiting the mysterious “control room” at the London Science Museum has a great pay off
Loving this story about someone visiting the mysterious “control room” at the London Science Museum, it has a great pay off and is worth reading to the end.
I went to the science museum last week. While I was there, my bank card fell from my pocket and was lost amidst the crowd. I ran to security –
"Hm. We'll call lost and found."
"No," says another guard, "they're not enough. You have to call The Control Room."— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
I daren’t even repeat the words.
“The Control Room?” says the first guard, “Are you sure? I never call them.”
“Call them.”
I stand there while security call The Control Room.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
“They have your card!” the first exclaims, “Good news. I’ll go and get it for you, please wait here.”
“No,” says the second, “bring them with you.”
“To The Control Room?”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t bring the public to The Control Room.”
I can’t tell if I’m excited or terrified.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
Sighing, the first security guard leads me away and down some stairs and then across a bit and then down some more stairs. We come in to a deserted room.
“Just over here,” she says, indicating a door that looks more like an airlock.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
We walk over, she swipes a card and inputs a pin to unlock the door, and we’re in the behind-the-scenes of the SCIENCE MUSEUM.
“Hey,” says a guy carrying what looks like a chunk of space itself.
“Hey,” says my security guard.
“Newbie?” asks the guy.
“No. Public.”
“Oh. Down here?”— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
I try to say a very humble sounding hi, but probably just squeak. I hurry after the guard, too frightened to chat, too engrossed in this weird second museum to watch where I’m going.
“Come on,” she says.
“Is this The Control Room?” I ask.
“What? Oh, no. Through here.”— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
At this point I have literally no idea how to make it back outside.
Bzz.
“Control Room speaking.”
“Hi, I’m here for the card. I have the visitor with me.”
I quickly offer to wait outside. The guard looks at me, desperately grateful. I feel like I’m in a million movies at once.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
The door swings open. I can see harsh artificial light, but I keep myself back from investigating any further.
“You can both come in,” says the voice on the intercom.
I do not think the guard has ever taken someone to The Control Room before. I think it’s a special employee perk.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
She pushes the door open.
It’s a tiny cubicle, with a full noticeboard on one wall and a sliding window at the next where some sixty year old lady sits and smiles.
“Hiya love! Lost your card?” she says.
“… Yeah?”
I show ID and get the card back. We leave.— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
“Sorry for not wanting to bring you in,” says the guard, leading me through to the exit, “it’s just that it sounds so dramatic being The Control Room and everything and then it’s pretty much the fucking post office.”
— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
— Caz (@CaraCompass) November 29, 2017
“I read this all to the husband. I used voices and everything. The first guard sounded like Richard Burton reading Under Milk Wood. The second guard was distinctly more Olivier. In my head, it was terribly British noir. You, naturally, sounded like Celia Johnson.” says @Lapetitepie.
Source: Twitter/@CaraCompass
