The Standard hotel in Hollywood has a glass case mounted to the wall behind the reception desk. Approximately ten feet long by four feet high, it looks like it should house a multitude of very expensive tropical fish. Instead, there’s a woman in it.

Yep, a woman. A perfectly alive woman who just lounges around in what is essentially a bed.

My first thought was “this is why people make fun of us.” My second thought was “what does she tell people she does for a living?” I’m sure on her resume it says model or performance artist or something. But seriously, she sits in a box behind a row of uniformed hotel employees taking your credit card and issuing you room keys. That has got to be the most boring job in the history of boring jobs. Not that you could complain about it because, let’s face it, no one would believe you.

Unless you were me. Then you wouldn’t be bored. You’d spend all your time being absolutely convinced that the glass box was one second away from coming unmounted from the wall and crashing to the floor, smashing into a million pieces all around you. At this time a shard the size of a playing card will become lodged in your femoral artery. You will most certainly bleed to death but not too quickly, giving you plenty of time to realize that yes, you will be on one of those internet Darwin awards lists because you died from sitting in a fish tank. With no water in it.

Only in L.A.