Storage units are creepy in the same way that empty locker rooms or night-time parks with one eerily creaking swing are creepy. If Buffy, for example, walks into a vast warehouse full of locked rooms, you can pretty much guarantee she'll be attacked by monsters before she's halfway across the room. The franchise I keep my own belongings in isn't actually too bad. The one where D, evil creature of the night that she is, keeps hers is horrible, and that's where I had to go last night. I walked uneasily past countless rows of lockers, humming defiantly, and failing to convince even myself that I wasn't weirded out. Typically, when I finally reached the right aisle, all but one flourescent light had blown, and the remaining tube at the far end was flickering on and off in a desultory fashion. I may have mentioned before that I really do not like the dark, so standing in a dark corridor, fumbling with the lock for a container which will definitely also be dark, and could contain anything, is not exactly my favourite activity. As far as I'm concerned, that container could still contain anything. With the reception desk closed there was no chance of acquiring a replacement lightbulb, or even a torch. I had to locate the suitcase I needed to extract by touch, using vast quantities of willpower to force my hands into unknown blackness, while my skin crawled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. In comparison, the near two-hour trek home dragging the case was positively enjoyable.
Lessons learned: Do not do favours for people unless they guarantee adequate lighting.
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