Tuesday, November 8, 2011

An Experiment re The Mystery Office

Sometime back, I published a very mild comment on an empty office space in a famous NYC landmark building. I was curious as to why this very desirable office space was always empty when I passed it on the way to my dentist. In September I received a notice that the commentary had to be taken down because it was found to be violating some law or other. Can't imagine what this was, except that I had used a stock photo I had found online, and perhaps that was copyrighted. There was no tag indicating such on the photo. Anyway, here is my entry again—not that it's such a literary masterpiece—with a couple of not wonderful photos I just took with my cherished new iPhone (Sprint finally offered it!).

Here I go again with one of my obsessions,  the Chrysler Building. To get to my dentist's office there, you take the express elevator to the 57th floor and then walk around the corner to take the Tower Elevator to the 69th floor. But on the 57th floor, on the way to the next elevator, you will encounter what I have come to call the Mystery Office. As the possessor of an overactive imagination, I find that this office reminds me of something out of The Twilight Zone or perhaps a program on the Sci-Fi (recently renamed—wait for it—SyFy) Channel. Except for an occasionally visible young woman who appears to be a receptionist, there's never anybody in there! Is this a conference venue? Temporarily unrented space (no surprise here, with office rentals going begging in the recession)? Over several years, at whatever time I have my dentist appointment, there has never been anything taking place in this glossy, pristine space. Do covens congregate there late at night, gazing out over Manhattan from the 57th floor? Do Mafia dons occasionally plan whack jobs? Che cosa fanno li? Whatever the case may be, using this venue has got to be pricey. No one in the dentist's office seems to know anything. Have they been warned by underworld figures to keep their lips buttoned—observing omertà? Where is Mike Hammer when we need him? Or better, C. Auguste Dupin, Sherlock Holmes, or Hércule Poirot? Or, since it's a 30s Art  Deco building, Philo Vance?

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