Here’s an old photo that I found at my grandmother’s house.
I want to start a business that is a waiting room. You enter the front door and check in with the secretary, then you have a seat. After that, nothing happens. Nobody calls your name. The customers who are waiting in the other chairs of the room are never called either: everyone just keeps waiting. Maybe someone becomes impatient and asks the secretary, “What’s the holdup?” And the secretary says, “What are you here for?” And nobody can answer, because nobody knows: they’ve all arrived simply out of curiosity, since my business runs ads on TV which say: “Visit my establishment.” So maybe one or two people leave in frustration after overhearing the secretary’s response. But then I myself make an appearance as the business’s owner. You see me walking down the hallway. I open the door to the waiting room, peak in, look around, and raise my eyebrows as if I’m about to deliver news. The room is now silent. I ask one of the waiting customers if they’ve heard of this or that song; and I instruct the secretary to find the tune and play it over the intercom. Then I return back down the hallway. If anyone wants to join me, they need only stand up and follow along: no one will stop them. There are several additional doors lining the hall – only one of these is locked; visitors can open the rest and see what’s inside, if they like. Within each, I’ve situated various phenomena. And the locked door is mine.