So, the a/c in my car stopped working a couple days ago. Can't say I'm surprised by this, it has happened every summer for the last two years. A friend of mine told me about a place where his cousin works, and that if I mentioned the right people I could probably get my car looked at for super cheap. This magical place would be found in the middle of "the hood", sadly located three blocks from my house.

Address in mind, I take off for this destination this afternoon.  I am met with a curious sight: a costume store.

I wander around the building, and I see people working on cars.

I walk back up front, enter the costume store and just sort of... looked horribly confused, I suppose.

A gentleman asks what I could do for him. I kindly ask if he knew where a garage was around here, that I was having issues with my car.

"Oh!", he says. "Come up to the desk here and I'll get you figured out."

So we wade through racks of Renaissance era garments and kimonos, and sit at a desk. We go over what problems I'm having (leaking freon. again. I'm supposed to be able to smell that, apparently). My friend's cousin shows up, recognizes me and we get all chummy. So they set to work, I'm I'm left to wander the costume shop.

A clerk asks me if I've been helped, and I could only assume that I had. She then explained what this place DOES. Yes, they rent costumes. Yes, they fix cars. The people who fix cars... they're ex theatre buffs. THAT would explain why my friend's cousin was here, when he's a fucking theatre major! What a magical.... confusing... handy place. A costume shop that has a garage out back. Okay. Cool.

Get to talking a little more, and the clerk asks me if I've been in any theatre productions. Only in highschool, and nothing too interesting (Wizard of Oz, Our Town, Harvey, worked at the Renaissance Festival as a belly dancer... fun stuff). So the clerk gets all giddy, and scampers outside.

All of these grease monkeys come back in, and they say, "Hey. We'll fix this for you for twenty bucks if you can do a scene from Our Town from memory."

I laugh, say I can do my best, but I'll need help. They produce scripts out of fucking NOWHERE... I later learn that they have an ENORMOUS library of play scripts also for sale. So we all gather around and do the ENTIRE third act (myself, as Mrs. Gibbs, from MEMORY).

At this point in time, I seriously considered the idea that I was probably in a coma or something, and this was me hallucinating.

But no. NO, it was very much real.

They patched up my car, made me act, then had me on my way.

....... Life is WEIRD.

And that's really all the commentary I have for this right now, because I'm still trying to process it.

I'm bewildered! Utterly bewildered.