“Welcome to Surreal Entertainment, sir. How can we betray your expectations today?” The greeter’s curled grey hair bounced with her cheerful hello, and a tinge in its hue almost matched the blue of her vest. “Um,” I said, and that was all I had planned. I forged on. “Well, I have this, um.” No, I didn’t. I looked around in my pockets until I found it. “I have this coupon for a free trial. Um.” I didn’t know what to do with it.

“And you don’t know what to do with it?” Her smile seemed fixed on her face. I don’t know how she was talking. “Let me show you some of what we offer and we’ll find what interests you.” She took me by the elbow and led me down the aisle.

“Don’t you need to, um,” I looked over my shoulder. An old person in a blue vest was waiting smilingly for the next customer. “I guess you don’t.”

She didn’t seem to notice. “Over here you see Aisle Nine in the Grocery Store,” she gestured to a cluttered grocery aisle, “Dry Breakfasts and Cereals. You want the pancake batter, but someone has spilled the O-shaped cereal, two children are fighting over the toaster pastries while another has vomited, and their mother is lonely and wants to make a connection.” I stared. “No? This way please.”

I looked at the screaming children and the grocery store employee cleaning. “You pay all these people just in case someone wants to go there?”

“No, sir, these are all clients. And down these stairs we have Suburban Meth Lab.” I bent over and peered down some stairs. “Join a group of hard-luck miscreants in making illegal drugs and wrestling with the conflict of their posturing and insecurities.” Maybe she saw the look on my face. “Or you can wait a half-hour and join the police raid, but I’m afraid the only position we have left is idealist rookie who probably gets shot by corrupt cops.” She didn’t have to ask. “Moving on,” she said.

My smiling guide gestured at a corridor of high-school lockers off to the left. “The Venom Club, where high-school girls torment each other viciously for perceived faults, such as being a slut, dressing like a slut, not being slutty enough, and acting like they aren’t a slut.”

“They’re almost all guys, though.”

“Some are not,” she said through her grill-toothed smile, “but many are.”

“How come there aren’t real teenage girls there?” I said. “The grocery aisle had everyone look right.”

“Clients choose their own entertainments. Would you like to stop here?”

I watched a business executive insinuate that another guy would never get a boyfriend dressed like that, and then a 40-something housewife slapped a college kid and screamed, “Whore!”

“No,” I said.

“This way, please.” This way was toward a faux-forest scene, plastic trees and shrubs and astroturf. It took up an entire corner of the concourse, and upwards of twenty people of all kinds ran around the space. Among many others, two were wrestling, one wore a toga and stood wobbily on a foam rock and lectured, and some guy in a grey cloak ran around stabbing people in the back with a foam knife. Everyone ignored him. “The Tower of Babel. Do whatever you want here, but you can never be sure anyone will engage with you. There’s a costume and prop room in back.” She kept walking, to my satisfaction.

“We’re running short on introductory offers,” said the greeter, still wearing her plastic smile. “Does either the Bone Cathedral or Tiny’s Taco Hut interest you?”

I had no idea. “Uh, I really, uh,” I said.

“In Tiny’s Taco Hut you are a food court service worker striving to fill an uncontrollable glutton with your brand of undernourishing, overcaloried food in competition with other food court service workers. Or you can wait and be the glutton, but there is a substantial wait.”

“I guess… not. Not really.”

She paused. Maybe it took some effort to keep that smile painted on her face after all. “Then let me show you the Bone Cathedral. It’s really quite popular. Many people find it truly rewarding.” She led me down to a small alcove with just enough room for one overstuffed chair that dwarfed the bean-thin woman sitting in it. Everything about her screamed despondent: the slump to her shoulders, her thin frame, her downcast and indirect gaze. A couple dozen people sat in a crescent around the alcove.

We stood without moving for a minute. The despondent woman spoke. “I think I was eleven the first time I was betrayed.” Her voice was small and thin, just like her. “Mom never liked the attention that Dad gave me.” Anywhere from thirty seconds to a couple minutes separated each sentence. “She was jealous.”

I whispered, “Does it just go on like this?”

“Each person exalts misery in a different way.” She led me a few steps away from the alcove. “What entertainment would you like? After your introductory experience, we have many more entertainments for you.”

“Um. Well. I’m not sure. Maybe, could I see the first one again?”

Her smile quivered. Maybe she wasn’t upset and her muscles were finally giving out? I waited. “Of course, sir,” she said. She started walking in that direction, but a young woman in a blue vest strode up and put her hand on my guide’s shoulder. “Anita, your time is up.”

The smile vanished. “Already? But I, oh, damn. This client took up all my time! I only got to greet one person!”

“Sorry, Anita, you know the rules. Sign your gear back in with Terry, will you?” Anita slumped off. Once Anita was out of sight, the young woman said, “Your time as a frustrating client is also up, sir.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I said. “Thanks, Carrie. I’ll see you next week for the Human Chessboard Revolution?”