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Street Shopping, Solo

November 23, 2008

The scene: a bitterly cold NYC November night.  The howling of the wind mixes with the rumbling of cars from the nearby freeway.  Our heroine, Ali, emerges from a subway station, relaxed and happy despite the inhuman weather.  She pulls her hat down and her hood up, and leans into the wind as she traces her way down the broken city pavement.

Half a block in, she stops, gaping in amazement.

Sitting on the curb, just a few blocks from home, in all its oaken glory, is a Leksvik 6-drawer chest.  The same chest that she’d fallen in love with only days before at the store.  The same one whose price tag hovered somewhere between “ridiculously out of budget” and “maybe from Santa for Christmas.”  Certain that there must be SOME attendant fatal flaw, Ali carefully inspects the cabinet.  With a single exception*, it is pristine.

 

Hurrying now, she speeds home, putting together compelling arguments for why her (male) roommate will need to immediately come out into the arctic elements and help her carry a chest of drawers.  Yes, now!  Before some other opportunistic Brooklynite gets their grubby paws on it first, darn it all!  Yet when she opens the door, the house is dark and still.  This is unheard of!  Where is the roommate?  Where is the roommate’s girlfriend?  Where are the roommate’s eleventy-three band members?  Where is Col. Mustard?  And, what ever happened to that lead pipe?

Our heroine is now faced with a choice.  She could warm up, eat her dinner, and enjoy the rest of the evening, or she could make an Illogical And Decidedly Unpractical Decision.

Okay, so maybe not a choice so much as a Big Fat Dare.  Alis, as you know if you have any experience with them, are not known for their stupendous feats of strength and athleticism, but can generally be relied upon to take a medal for Sheer Stubbornness, and our Ali is no exception to this particular golden rule.

Nor is she an idiot.

She first combs through the apartment, looking for ANYTHING with wheels (hopefully, a skateboard, a scooter, or a small moving company).  No luck.  Resolved to “doing this the old-fashioned way”, and growing increasingly nervous about the lonely, forlorn Laksvik being absconded with by People That Are Not Her, she decides that her only recourse is to take it stages.

A drawer at a time, to be precise.

Diners at the local hotspot are treated to the sight of a figure, scarved and coated and mittened to a vaguely human shape, trudging past again and again.

 

Down the block, across the street, down another block, across the freeway (with the theme song from Frogger beepling in the background), stash in the foyer, lock up, and back for the next bit.

 

Again and again and again and again, until six drawers are safely stowed in the apartment.

Only the chest itself remains standing.

And, Ali notes (a bit ruefully), it remains standing just about as tall as she does.

After one wistful look towards the train station, where any Just Universe would have already arranged for a helpful roommate to be appearing, our heroine shoulders her burden.

Literally.

Hitching it up on a shoulder, then twisting it sideways and wedging between the supports, Ali takes on the semblance of some mad Cubist’s Ninja Turtle, then staggers down the street with her prize.

After nearly taking flight–twice!–she learns that one must calculate the drag coefficient of a Laksvik when one is wearing it as a turtle shell and walking into the gusting wind.  She hopes sincerely that no unkindly representatives of either the FAA or Fish & Wildlife happen by during her unlicensed activities.

 

Twenty minutes and five “breaks” later (one for every snapped tarsal and vertebrae), she finds herself at the foot of a mountain, looks up, does some quick math, looks down, says a quick prayer, looks up again, and painfully ascends the steppes of the steps into the house.

As she edges around the suddenly overfull foyer and strips bits of cold-weather gear, she realizes that there’s no way she’s going to be able to get it up to the bedroom on her own.

 

Somehow, she’s okay with that.

 

The End!

*One track of one drawer has one screw loose. Of course, so does its new owner.

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8 comments

  1. You are amazing man!


  2. Or nuts. Or stubborn. But I like yours better–thanks!!
    How’s life?


  3. I’m riding an amazing high of having wonderful friends who are willing to bail me out of financial trouble. ♥_____________♥ How about you?


  4. Good for you! Glad that they’re there for you. And I’m hoping that les rats are doing well, also? I always notice when you post about them.
    I’ve decided that I’m not playing the lottery for a while–it sounds sappy, but I’ve had the most amazing streak of–honestly–blessings–lately. Things that seemed irreconcilable have come together in the most amazing possible way.
    I’m going to have to start actively finding good deeds to do–I’ve cashed in my karma!


  5. Oh awesome!! :DDDDDDD


  6. 🙂
    Way impressed Ali!!!!


  7. Re: 🙂
    Thanks, Anonymous! (Jason or Jon, but not sure which. . . )


  8. You are win, my dear, much win also Sampson, but you might not like that. The feats of your strength and efficiency will be sung by troubadours for the next few millennia.



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