Discrimination in Morrowind
Dreamed on 2009.09.16
I move quietly, careful not to disturb the boat parked on my left, or any of the tools hanging on the walls to my right. I think I can see a clear path to the door on the other side. This is dumb! Who ever thought to make the sidewalk go THROUGH people's garages? And considering that it does, even, which is a big consideration, why did they leave their doors open? I feel like I'm trespassing, though I know I'm not.
Ridiculous. Navigating through other people's garages.
Reaching the far door, I open it, hoping to see a long and clear sidewalk stretching out in front of me. I stumble and fall.
No, not a long sidewalk, but not another garage either. A pile of hay. I have fallen two feet into the edge of a pile of hay, which must be at least five feet deep where I swim in it. And there's construction equipment – two cranes, here, scooping at the hay. I'm in the hay they're scooping at.
Okay, no need to worry. If I stay quiet they won't see me and then I can – shit, it's turning towards me, it's... oh shit, oh – okay make noise! I make as much noise as I can, yelling, and flailing my arms. The man in the crane looks right at me as he lowers the scooper. I scream, I yell, I swear. The scooper comes in behind me, pinning me by the legs against all the hay. And – he laughs. Laughs at my frustration and rage. What now? Will he lower it further and break my legs?
No, he reverses the scoop back up, away from me, and I scramble to get out of the way, to run around to the flat blacktop of a parking lot on the far side. The second crane makes a motion, pretending to snap after me, as I get out of range. Then they return to their business.
There is a man watching me in the parking lot. Swarthy skin, almost elven looking. I ask if he saw that, and he shakes his head, not in a denying it sort of way, but more in a “yeah-I-saw-it, what's-the-world-coming-to...” sort of way. I pull out my cell phone and call the police. “Yes?” they answer, and I explain what happened. They say, “okay, are there any witnesses?” And I say one man, an Ashlander I think.
Behind me I hear the man speak, ignoring the fact that I'm on the phone. “You're an Ashlander too, you think they care how others treat you?” he says. The lady on the phone says, “I'm sorry, but you've got no evidence of wrongdoing. Goodbye.” And the phone goes dead.
I move quietly, careful not to disturb the boat parked on my left, or any of the tools hanging on the walls to my right. I think I can see a clear path to the door on the other side. This is dumb! Who ever thought to make the sidewalk go THROUGH people's garages? And considering that it does, even, which is a big consideration, why did they leave their doors open? I feel like I'm trespassing, though I know I'm not.
Ridiculous. Navigating through other people's garages.
Reaching the far door, I open it, hoping to see a long and clear sidewalk stretching out in front of me. I stumble and fall.
No, not a long sidewalk, but not another garage either. A pile of hay. I have fallen two feet into the edge of a pile of hay, which must be at least five feet deep where I swim in it. And there's construction equipment – two cranes, here, scooping at the hay. I'm in the hay they're scooping at.
Okay, no need to worry. If I stay quiet they won't see me and then I can – shit, it's turning towards me, it's... oh shit, oh – okay make noise! I make as much noise as I can, yelling, and flailing my arms. The man in the crane looks right at me as he lowers the scooper. I scream, I yell, I swear. The scooper comes in behind me, pinning me by the legs against all the hay. And – he laughs. Laughs at my frustration and rage. What now? Will he lower it further and break my legs?
No, he reverses the scoop back up, away from me, and I scramble to get out of the way, to run around to the flat blacktop of a parking lot on the far side. The second crane makes a motion, pretending to snap after me, as I get out of range. Then they return to their business.
There is a man watching me in the parking lot. Swarthy skin, almost elven looking. I ask if he saw that, and he shakes his head, not in a denying it sort of way, but more in a “yeah-I-saw-it, what's-the-world-coming-to...” sort of way. I pull out my cell phone and call the police. “Yes?” they answer, and I explain what happened. They say, “okay, are there any witnesses?” And I say one man, an Ashlander I think.
Behind me I hear the man speak, ignoring the fact that I'm on the phone. “You're an Ashlander too, you think they care how others treat you?” he says. The lady on the phone says, “I'm sorry, but you've got no evidence of wrongdoing. Goodbye.” And the phone goes dead.
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