The Sleeping Exhibit at the Mattress Museum
Nell Okonkwo worked as a junior guide at the Museum of Beds and Bedding, which sounds like the dullest place on earth until you hear about the afternoon the exhibit started snoring.
The museum's best room held a sleigh bed from the 1800s, covered in a patchwork quilt and guarded by a velvet rope. Nell had given the tour so many times that she could recite it in her sleep. "This bed," she began that Thursday, "belonged to a sea captain who preferred to sleep sitting up."
A low, rumbling noise interrupted her. Everyone in the group turned. A round-faced man in a rumpled coat lay curled on top of the quilt, deeply asleep, with his hat over his eyes.
Nell froze. Behind her, a woman from the tour whispered, "Is that part of the display?" A boy added, "It looks very realistic." Within a minute, someone had snapped a photo, and a man in a bow tie had started explaining to his daughter that the figure was "clearly a wax sleeper from the Victorian period."
Nell knew that she had two choices. She could pretend, or she could fix it. She stepped over the rope, tapped the sleeper on the shoulder, and said, "Sir, I am so sorry, but the beds are for looking at."
The man sat up, blinked at the crowd, and said, "I came in for a quick rest. I have been traveling since Tuesday." The group burst into applause, and the museum director, who had heard the commotion, offered him a free ticket and a chair. The next morning, a new sign hung by the sleigh bed. It said, PLEASE DO NOT WAKE THE EXHIBITS, AND PLEASE DO NOT BECOME ONE.