Outside of the Box

At long last, here I am, my own apartment, my items scattered about the floor in quasi-disarray. But at least I'm here, all my stuff got here, and I have cable internet.

Moving in was actually pretty uneventful. I pulled into the lot about 10 minutes after the movers did. Woops. But they were looking for #507 instead of #307 and having much difficulty since there is no fifth floor here. The guys, Pete and George, leathery men about my father's age, sweatily hoofed the boxes and furniture off their truck, down the 30 foot walk, and up three flights of stairs into my apartment. After we verified all items, they unpacked everything in a flurry of cardboard and recycled paper, and having stowed it all in their truck (I kept a few boxes for myself), had me sign the paperwork and drove away. End of item one.

Naturally the refrigerator was completely empty as were all the cupboards, so I moseyed over to Safeway, which is in the U-Villagesque shopping center across the street. I had BahaFresh tacos for lunch then went inside. Before I left, I consulted mom to compile a grocery list, which ended up being quite long. So I paced to and fro throughout Safeway, edging closer to the 3:00 deadline when the cable guy was to come. The cart reached saturation just in time and I cashed out. $265 later I was on my way. Maybe $50 of it was spent on food. :-D A full trunk of groceries is quite a task when you have to haul all those plastic bags up 4 flights of stairs. I grabbed a large gym bag that I nabbed from mom and dad when I moved and filled it to the brim with groceries. It weighed an unholy ton but it sure went fast to carry them that way as I still had free hands to grab more bags! End of item two.

Returning to my car I happened on a mystery. I bought a 32 oz. bottle of wiper fluid concentrate and espied it sitting in its place in a plastic tub built into the trunk (specifically for such items), about 2/3 empty. That's not right, I only used 2 oz. to make the solution and only once. So pulling it out of the tub I was slightly mortified when a number of gooey drips slid off the bottom of the bottle. Quickly I emptied my trunk of its contents in search of the large, sticky puddle/mess that was surely inside. I scanned the entire trunk space, all the way down to the spare tire cavity and could not find any trace of concentrate. All I found was a small layer in the tub, which was easily cleaned up with napkins. Very strange indeed. I want to know who thought they needed to use 11 oz. of concentrate in their windshield fluid tank. Have fun unclogging the nozzles. End of item three.

Leo, the cable guy, arrived during this little diversion and snuck up to my front door while I was down in the parking garage. He called me and said he was here so I ok'd him and ran up to meet him. He wasn't there. I called him from my front door and he was in the parking garage. I love how that works. He got the cable up and running in a jiffy and even volunteered to do the setup on my computer because he could see I was computer savvy and didn't want to install their messy software which leaves little Comcast stains all over windows. There was a minor glitch because I had been using the connection at my parents' house for some time but he cleared that up after some holding on Comcast's line...the inside tech-only line. Let's hope I never need to call them for service if they make their techs wait for service. After that was cleared, up I was ready to go. End of item four.

Only I wasn't, because I found out I had a whole bunch of things to go buy that weren't groceries. After more consulting with mom, I charted a course for the nearest Wal-Mart discount store since it was likely to be cheaper than Bed, Bath, and Beyond, though less quality. This was a grave mistake. Let me tell you why.

Wal-Mart is located in Milpitas, and affects an entire quadrant of this enormous shopping center. They close at 9 and I rolled in about 7, eager to get in and out so I could cook dinner. Well it just so happened that the management must have summoned every single family in Santa Clara county with at least two sub-teen children or three cohabitating generations. I theorized that perhaps Wal-Mart simply produces them en mass. I guess somebody has to supply overweight, unhappy Americans. You might expect to see white trash. Aye, there was, but it didn't stop there. I saw Mexican trash, asian trash, Indian trash, and even a little black trash in that Wal-Mart discount store. It was truly a multi-racial trash effort. And so, skillfully navigating the maze of aisles, floes of shopping carts and seething throngs of cranky grandmothers, upset fat women, screaming children, and exasperated fathers, I collected my treasures. By the time I made it back to the checkout stands, the line for each was backed up all the way across the main aisle, rendering it impenetrable, and into the clothes racks opposite. I subsequently finagled a line that seemed shorter than the rest. I say "seemed" because in reality they were all long. This one because the checker was slow and there was some enormous Indian family with two carts full up at the register. Yadda yadda I made it to the door where an even SLOWER woman was checking off receipts. I tried to circumvent her but was stopped by a courteous pre-recorded voice announcing that I was a thief. Eventually the lady got to me and I got everything to my car. Then, in a fit of desperation, I plunged myself once more into the fray and ate dinner at the MacDonald's built into the store. I felt unhealthier, but satiated. Flinging myself from that accursed place for the last time, I drove home to the smooth sounds of Chevelle. End of item five.

Upon domestic re-entry I once more played Sherpa and replaced my new belongings into the apartment. I washed some dishes and here I am. Tomorrow my main task is to get things into a semi-permanent place. I can tell you about what I've been doing at work for the last two weeks next time. For now, though, I've written a book so you simply must abide in torturous uncertainty. I highly recommend it. Flagellating, Bryan. End of item six.

P.S. I have a new email address: beamer "eighty-one" (as a number) at comcast dot net. (Gotta guart against the spam webcrawlers.)