An Unexpected Visitor
I got wasted years ago on a Friday night. I was wandering the halls of an arctic research station when I heard an odd sound behind a door that led to a food storage room on the exterior of the building.
Figuring that it was the cook taking a smoke break, I thought that this would be a good chance to bum a smoke from him.
I reached down to turn the doorknob, and I immediately became filled with such an utter sense of dread. I had to jerk my hand back, almost as if I’d gotten electrocuted.
Confused and badly wanting a smoke, I tried to open the door a second time, but I had the same result. My brain kept telling me, “If you open that door, something terrible will happen.”
As I stood there, mystified and looking at my hand, a station staff member passed by and asked me if I was okay. I said, “There’s something wrong in the storage room.”
The person responded, “You’re just inebriated. Go to bed.”
Half an hour later, I was awakened by a commotion of profanity and yelling; a polar bear had broken into the storage room and—with the exception of a box of tofu—had eaten all the contents of one of the fridges.