June 30th, a day of reckoning across the city. Like our forefathers, immigrant or otherwise, people pack all their earthly belongings into a truck and migrate north, east, south or west to a better place. In my case, south, to the borough of Brooklyn. And it was far from a smooth ride.
First, the van I was using apparently has a “weak” battery. A weak battery is one which can’t sustain the hazard lights for more than 5 minutes without sacrificing it’s ability to start the engine. Leaving the headlights on over night can sap a battery good, I understand that, but fucking hazard lights? The lights you need when your car isn’t working, like when the battery is weak? Come on AC Delco, you can do better than that. Expect a threatening letter.
We got a jump from someone who had just pulled over. The good samaritan told us that if my friend had been wearing a Yankee cap instead of the Mets cap he was wearing, he wouldn’t have helped us. Choose your allegiances wisely in New York City.
After that we were on our way to Brooklyn, and everything went fine. No real traffic, and we moved everything in from the first load in roughly half an hour. The sofa was almost destroyed however, when not one, but two, seemingly blind Verizon employees piled into their van and almost ran it over. It was right in between our van and theirs, and it had been there a good 3 minutes while we took it out of the van and paused to rest. I was actually one the phone with a friend asking me how the move was going when it happened.
“Yeah, it’s going all right. The van stalled before, but we’re good now… WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”
One of the Verizon employees asked me incredulously why I was screaming. Then she patronizingly said was sorry, that she didn’t see the sofa. I bet she didn’t see herself working for the phone company as a kid either. Then I gave her a taste of the back of me hand, and they went on their way.
With the sofa safe, I still had to wait for the old tenant to come by and give me her set of the keys, and pay her for the air conditioner. She was about to go to the airport and only had 3 suitcases in the apartment. I bid her farewell and god speed, but seems like she didn’t listen.
Stuck in traffic halfway over the Brooklyn Bridge back into Manhattan, she calls me.
“I’ve done a stupid thing! I closed the door and one of my suitcases is still inside! I need you to come back and let me in!”
What kind of comedy of errors is this, anyway? All you had to do was prop open the door with one of your suitcases and move the other two into the hallway, you bloody twit! But since I’m so benevolent we turned around and let her in, and all it cost us was a precious 45 minutes with which to avoid the imminent rush hour.
Loading up the second time was a lot easier, it was just miscellaneous stuff. No huge items like a couch or a bed. But I have some sort of aphasia when it comes to small miscellaneous items. Doing a once over of my apartment to see what was left, I just couldn’t process what’s lying on a countertop. I seem to consider each thing individually, so the glass and the plate and the fork and the bottle and the paper don’t amount to one mess but rather several insignificant things. That must be how I forgot my towels, my ties and who knows whatever else I haven’t consciously missed yet. Like the man who mistook his wife for a hat
All that’s left to do now is find laces to put all the junk I should have thrown out instead of transporting to small studio without closets, shelves, or drawers.
0 Responses to “No Sleep Till.. Da Da... Da DAAAA... Brooklyn!”