The other night at Stanford, I noticed a sign on the wall of their Roble Gym: “Maximum Occupancy 299”
What’s up with that? I mean, really, who decides this sort of thing? Do they actually do a test of some sort? “Okay, people… 295, 296, 297… alright, squish in a bit more… 298, 299… come on… almost there… aaaaaaaaaaghhhhh!”
Or is it less fun and more devious than that?
“Hmm… the laws say that if we allow 300 or more people in here at once, we have to install a hypermodular rotor’d thingamabob, and that would be bad. Ah ha! I got it! Let’s just say that we can only fit 299. What are the inspectors going to do, actually test it? There are only 247 inspectors around here anyway… ha!”
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I see head-scratching signs when I drive, too. The other day during my oh-so-fun commute from San Francisco to Mountain View, I noticed a sign for Fashion Island. I almost took the exit, but I was wearing kinda ratty jeans, and — not wanting to be the first person kicked off the island — I just drove straight to work instead.
Which raises another question. Is there any relation between Fashion Island and Fantasy Island? Is the latter where people go when they only DREAM they have a sense of style? If so, — de plane, de plane! — here, I come!
And then, also on my commute, is the Air Museum. What I want to know is how they display the specimens. Behind air-tight glass? If so, geez, where’s the fun in that? Can’t touch it, can’t smell it… no fun at all.
Still, though, I’ve pondered about what exhibits I might find there.
“Air Through the Ages”
“The Seismic and Combustible Potential of Flatulent Air” (I wonder what they pay for sample contributions?)
“Air from Politicians” (WARNING: May be superheated!)
One good thing is that, since air takes little space, they probably have a lot more room for people in this museum. They may not even need a maximum occupancy sign!