But that didn't really happen though now did it?

Did it?

I find it increasingly difficult to tell apart what's happening inside of my head and outside of it. It doesn't really matter though, the outside world is just a sort of extended version of my brain, at least the part of the outside world I prefer to remain within. The chocolate factory as a Gargantuan brain with billions of little brain cells working hard for me and billions of nerves running all across the place like cables, crosswise and counterwise, upwards and downwards, much like the glass elevator. And the brain cells would be the Oompa-Loompas then. Yeah. The Oompa-Loompas, or perhaps the rooms are the brain cells and the Oompa-Loompas tiny little hormones and pheromones and proteins and carbohydrates and vitamins, that kind of stuff, working hard for me and sometimes causing mischief.

I lost my track. What was I thinking about? I'm quite sure it wasn't the double bubble or pocket billiards or two bit nit wits or raspberry bumble either, for that matter. Oh yeah. My brain. No, it was something else before that, before I got lost in the brain metaphor, or was it a metaphor really? Something brain-related, sort of mushy, not distinct and stay-neatly-where-you-put-it like, well, like candy. Oh, except for the wriggly sweets of course, those little buggers certainly never stay where you put them.

Now I remember, the itty little reunion thingie bit! That was a nice fantasy, very nice. Pretty. But I couldn't really have done it, not actually factually in reality have done it. Could I? How utterly out of character! Too easy. Too human. Human is a funny word. Sort of mushy-wushy.

I never did leave the factory again, I distinctly remember that. My glass elevator doesn't have a button marked "D… d… d… d… daddy's house". I could double, triple, quadruple check that out. It was a pretty little daydream, that's all. All fluffy and human, sort of. A bit on the sentimental side, maybe. But I think I could afford that, what with my first grey hair and all, time is high for some sentimentality, sweet childhood memories and dealing with unresolved traumas, yessiree. But I really can't be bothered with that for very long. The thing bores me.

The part about Charlie being a shoe shiner boy? I thought that was kinda cute. I snatched it from some story I heard. Couldn't you tell? There aren't even any shoe shiner boys anymore, or so I'm told. I snitched the part about hiding behind a newspaper as well, what a stupid thing to do, I would never! I even let Charlie call my hairdo funny, oh me, the generosity! I could just as well have him say something like "Oh my, Mr Wonka, you look splendid today, Mr Wonka, sir!" and I could have snapped at him all the same. Because I would. What an utterly ridiculous and annoying thing to say! But no. Not me. Uh-oh.

Repeating my offer? No! I couldn't possibly have done that. I'm your proud candy dandy. Well, not your. Not your either. Just general "your" as in fancy title, right? No misunderstandings. This here chocolatier belongs to nobody but himself, nosiree.

Thoughts keep flickering in and out of my head, some of them not so nice. I concentrate on the nice ones. Like I keep up a smile. I heard smiling actually makes you happy. Something to do with hormones, pheromones, those little buggers, the Oompa-Loompas of my fabulous internal chocolate factory. Much like cocoa. Makes your head spin. I actually get all dizzy from smiling, perhaps it has something to do with my jaw not being set properly, it's very… clinched… sometimes. But how could my jaw possibly not be set properly after all the years of…

Oh.

Must get back to work now! The Oompa-Loompas can't be left by themselves in the inventing room for too long, the mischievous little creatures. Just as I wanted them to be, a whiff of whimsy and chaos to my factory. Well, I guess I'm the whiff of whimsy, they can be the chaos, suits them right. Guess I'm everything though. All-encompassing. What a nice thought, if slightly unsettling.

Silly willy-nilly Willy! I like to address myself like that. Makes me feel like I'm in good company. The bestest. The little shiny button shining is not the inventing room button. It's the oranges: not only fruit button. Distractedly pressed because it is in such a great height and angle, just perfect for pressing. Liked the novel too. Yes, I do read books. Occasionally. If they're about me, and all books are if I want them to be. Not the boring stuff though, blah blah blah blah, good evening Mr Parker, good morning Mrs Smith. Most of them are. I pick them by the titles and order them online. Actually, I let an Oompa-Loompa do that for me. I don't like the internet, it's full of… stuff. Makes me all fretty like somebody's watching.

Speaking of books, didn't like Como agua para chocolate much despite the title. All the chilli-eating, made me quite sick to my stomach when there is such a thing as chocolate. In the title and all, they could so not not have heard of it! And what's with all the… ew. Ew. There you go, spontaneously combusting suits you fine. It's like that poor old Oompa-Loompa, well, he didn't exactly spontaneously combust, of course he had one of those hot cross nuns. Didn't think it would be that hot really. Couldn't fix him again at all, I'm afraid. Good thing there are so many of them and if I ever run out I'll just make some more. Get some more. In Loompa-land, yeah you know, all that jazz, trekking through the jungle, fighting hideous beasts, been there, done that, would do it again if necessary, a little vacation is always welcome for an overworked old chocolatier.

Ouch. Did I just say old? Of course I'm not old. Just look at the youthful vigour of that slender figure reflected in the glass wall of the elevator! Look at his perfect skin and perfect teeth – here I put on my best grin to show them off – and his delicious hair shifting in all colours from dark chocolate to milk. Chocolate, that is, not milk. Yet, how about milk white hair, wouldn't I look good? In more ways than one because as you know the colour white is so closely associated with goodness and light and cleanliness and godliness and innocence and… death. Oh yeah, death. I'll just stick to chocolate.

When I close my eyes all the lights go out in the factory. Or at least I'd like to think so. In fact, things continue to happen beneath the mint surface of my sleeping face, all the little coughs and wheels spinning, spinning, spinning at tumultuous speeds. Sometimes when I awake I have dreamt new creations into existence. Or have I? Did I dream that, too?

I get poetic like that sometimes. It's great fun, you should try it too! You should try the lactic acid drops and the candy-coated pencils and the dimpleberry dogs and the lime slime pie which is not quite done yet because it makes your tongue grow out of control but later, when it's all done, you should definitely try it! Definitely.

Well here we are! The oranges: not only fruit room. It was a good thing I pressed that button, it has been quite a while since I last inspected this room. I do such good things sometimes. Almost all of the time, come to think of it.

There's a door in the oranges: not only fruit room. A slim black door in the white wall. Not the orange wall, or the purple one, or the yellow or blue or red one, which in my not-so-humble opinion would have looked much niftier. Not-so-humble because I built the gosh darn factory and I put my doors where I very well want them to be. And I would not put that black door in the white wall, never! Not in the oranges: not only fruit room, no way. Black and white suits the salt and peppermints room, or the panda grooming room, but clearly not the oranges: not only fruit room. Yet, the door stubbornly remains in the white wall.

I didn't put a door there. Did I? Perhaps I have dreamt it into existence and forgotten all about the dream when I woke up? Perhaps the Oompa-Loompas put it there as a prank. Yeah, probably that. I couldn't let them down then. Couldn't possibly. Hence I put on my most dazzling smile, grab the doorknob and swing the door wide open, prepared to be covered in various coloured slime or sucked in by a giant vacuum or something common like that. My smile stiffens as the door reveals something completely un-expected. A closet barely spacious enough to contain it's only content, which happens to be a blonde boy with enormous black goggles and a somewhat delicate shape.

"You're not supposed to be here," I point out in a high-pitched voice, "You're supposed to be someplace different." I close the door very softly in the hope that the boy will somehow be gone the nest time anyone opens it. I better just leave now and then check in on it every now and then to see what happens. No, I'll let an Oompa-Loompa check in on it for me. No, better still, I'll let the Oompa-Loompas board up that door real safe. But then, perhaps, that… character… will be stuck in the heart of my chocolate factory forever? Because the oranges: not only fruit room is the heart, officially, the corridors are the veins and arteries, the inventing room the brain, the chocolate room the lungs, the chocolate river the rectum, yes I know, ew, Oompa-Loompa sense of humour, what kind of rectum runs through the lungs anyway?

I better think this over.

No! I better forget the whole thing and never ever open that door ever again.

Great! Where was I? Inspecting the oranges: not only fruit room doesn't seem so exciting anymore, with the black door eyeing me like I'm the intruder. I could bet at least a hundred gallons of fluffy, frothy chocolate on the fact that I spy it moving in the corner of my eye. A sort of flickering, like a TV between the channels. But when I spin around like whoooooooosh! all lightning fast! it is always the same seemingly innocent blank black rectangle. Show's over, nothing more to see!

Does it surprise you if I'm feeling just a little uneasy? I decide to slowly back out of the oranges: not only fruit room, never letting that deceptive door thingie box out of sight. And I go bumping right into the glass elevator with a bump! and an ouch! as I hit the back of my head and the hat comes tumbling down. I slowly crouch to pick it up, careful not to let that door out of sight. Then I equally carefully rise and start to fumble behind my back for the elevator button, find it, and slink into the elevator backwards. "Aha!" I cannot help but exclaim triumphantly, as the elevator door slides safely shut in front of me, pointing in the general direction of that other door with my cane. I playfully shake my right index finger at it, almost my old cheerful self again, as I push a random elevator button with the other hand without looking. Yay! I like to do that sometimes! And whooooooooosh!