Well, we're both still standing. So, I suppose the move went well. We now have all of our worldly belongings squeezed lovingly into a two-bedroom apartment along the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier. Of course, some 70% of it is still in boxes. As I dressed this morning, pulling a random pair of pants and a hoodie out of another box labelled Everyday Clothes, I lamented to Zach, then down the hall in the kitchen, that all of my clothes "smell like box stuff!"
His new excuse: "Jim, I can't hear you..."
Come to think of it, Pappaw used to say that a lot to Mammaw.
We still have much to unpack and organize. I've been using some saved-up vacation/personal time at work to make this a "light" week. Hence, I spent most of Monday and Tuesday setting up our (alas) small kitchen, (yes!) ample closet and storage space, and (broken toilet magically fixed itself) decent-sized bathroom. We're slowly planning various shopping trips to retrieve furniture items we thus far lack, and Zach is about two minutes from insanity regarding the set-up of our wireless connection.
But, for the first time in years, I have cable! Pity that nothing good is on.
Except Battlestar Galactica.
Saturday and Sunday, the stressful moving days, went better than expected. There were a few mishaps, culminating most embarrassingly in an episode where yours truly went into all-out panic mode while blocking an alley behind Zach's (now former) apartment with a large cargo van and, when a tow truck barrelled down on us as Zach was loading the last three boxes, I sped off, never to be heard from again. Well, actually, I was back in five minutes. But, I wrap up the whole incident thus: I've no grace under pressure, and Zach is a very fogiving soul. At least ma found the story funny, though.
Quite possibly the most interesting event in the 2005 Moving Saga, however, didn't occur on Saturday or Sunday. It happened last night. Heading home from lab after putting in a half day, I rang Zach to ask him what he wanted for dinner.
Zach: "Meet me at my apartment. We're going to clean it so I can turn in my keys and be done with it."
Technically, we both didn't have to be out of our old places until the end of the month (tomorrow, basically). Since I had all of my things out of my old room in the big house by Sunday, I rushed through, cleaning and polishing, Sunday evening, and turned in my key, skipping gleefully (dare I say girlishly?) as I ran to the car. While I had one room to worry about, though, Zach had an entire one bedroom apartment to deal with.
On the one hand, this may not sound like a huge deal. We'd already moved 97% of his things (as we were without internet at the new place, he'd kept his computer equipment in the old place as long as possible), and it is really only a one-bedroom apartment. As I was driving over there yesterday evening, I was thinking to myself, "Honestly, how much trouble could this be? It couldn't be that messy..."
Oh Fates, how you toy with me.
I've forgotten that Massive Amounts of Furniture and Belongings are good for hiding messes. And Zach's apartment, now furnitureless and belongingless (except for the aforementioned computer equipment)... well... I looked around in near panic at first, as I found Zach, grinning ear-to-ear, sleeves-rolled-up, holding a bottle of Comet in his hands (as if that one dinky bottle could restore that tub to its former glory), saying, "What's wrong?"
Me: "Where should I start?"
Zach: "Well, I've bagged up a little bit of garbage that was hanging around. Why don't you take it down to the dumpster?"
points to five oversized black garbage bags, yellow drawstrings barely containing the toxic waste within
Me: "Uh..."
Zach: "And I'll vaccuum while you're doing that."
I should note at this point that neither Zach nor I own a vaccuum. For my former room, I'd borrowed a housemate's vaccuum cleaner. Zach, when he meant "vaccuum," really meant: "I'll get down on my hands and knees with my handheld Dirt Devil and crawl around the room."
At this point, I noticed the floor was littered with coins, popcorn, old receipts, screws, and several other odds-and-ends.
"Zacharoo, how about I go around and pick up this crap before it breaks your dust buster?"
After correcting the dust buster remark, he consented. I think I made about $2.50 walking around, picking up loose change. I also have a pocketfull of odd screws from his bedroom. Since Zach sold his bed a little over a week ago, I've quit asking myself if these screws are indeed some vital part of his former bed's structural integrity.
At this point, you might be thinking that Zach is an absolute slob. I must point out how far this gross assumption is from the truth. I've known Zach prior to moving to Seattle. His apartment back in Iowa was a testament to neatness, taste, and the Schaumburg IKEA. I doubt I made more than $0.12 (mostly pennies) in trips to his apartment back in the Midwest. Only his bedroom, like mine, resembled any sort of disgraceful state. So, how did his apartment in Seattle begin to resemble a slovenly bachelor pad? Alas, it's my fault. We spent 99% of our time at my place. Any time Zach spent at his place consisted of
1. showering
2. work stuff
3. laundry
Anyway, back to the stuff on the floor. I collected money, receipts, and screws, before realizing that, every five paces or so, I'd come across something else: pills. Tylenol, aspring, ibuprofen.
Me: "Zach?"
Zach: "Yeah."
Me: "Why do I keep finding Tylenol every five paces?"
Zach: "Jim, I can't hear you..."
Later.
Me: "Zach, what are all these pills for?"
Zach, shrugging: "I get headaches."
Me: "Yeah, by why are they on the floor?"
Zach: "Well, they fell there."
At this point, I should note that, of the two of us, Zach gets more headaches. I'm sure, someday, I'll have the pleasure to meet Zach's best friend, who lives in the Chicago area, and I can anticipate immediately pulling him aside to ask: "Has Zach always suffered from frequent headaches?" He has as long as I've known him. But, as a scientist, I've of course considered the possibility that I am the cause of his cranial suffering.
Back to cleaning: by now, I'd let the Tylenol Issue rest for about half an hour. Bathroom done, Zach was washing his kitchen sink, as I opened cupboards to find all of the things Zach left behind, and hastily wrapped them up in bags for safe transport back to the new place.
Me: "How did all those pills get on the floor?"
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "I've found Tylenol, asprin, and ibuprofen every five paces. About as often as I found pocket change. More often than I found screws."
Zach: "Oh, you found screws?"
Me: "Yes, but what about the pills?"
Zach: "Oh, I have a habit of breaking bottles."
Now, the pieces are beginning to fall into place. I am the cause of Zach's headaches! Sort of.
My mind began to spin a story that explained both the observed frequency of discarded Tylenol and Zach's admission of his propensity to break bottles of Tylenol. I pictured the ultimate game show, a trivia game hosted by God. Zach, the eager young contestant, is moments away from his final question.
God: "My dear Zach, you are indeed brilliant. I've given you quite a bulging cranium."
Zach: "Thank you, Lord. I've had a lot of fun here."
God: "Are you ready for your final question, Zach?"
Zach: "Yes."
God: "If you get this question right, you'll win the grand prize."
Zach: "Goodie!"
God: "Do you know what the grand prize is?"
Zach: "No."
God: "It's your heart's desire..."
Zach: "You don't mean..."
God: "Yes, I do!"
Zach: "Oh, you mean - "
God: "Yes, my dear boy. Get this question right, and Marin Alsop is your bride!"
I should pause this scenario for a moment to point out that Zach is a huge fan of Marin Alsop. I'm pretty sure he would leave me for her - I'm saved only by the fact that Zach is as gay as I am. We recently attended a Seattle Symphony concert in which she was guest conducting, and I though I'd have to restrain him.
God: "So, are you ready for your final trivia question?... I should note here that you've gotten all the other questions right, making you the most intelligent of my creations. I'm quite proud of you. Your knowledge of political science, policy, and political theory is especially sharp."
Zach, blushing: "Thanks."
God: "It's too bad the final question has nothing to do with any of the previous ones."
Zach: "Huh?"
God: "Name the capital of Croatia."
I should point out right now that the capital of Croatia is Zagreb, which all of you should now. You should all know this because geography is the easiest of all subjects, and I'll never understand how you can all be citizens of this country, this world, and not know the capital of Croatia, which continent Lake Victoria is on, or in which country the Deccan Traps are found.
Zach: "Oh, God! I don't know the capital of Croatia!"
God: "I'm afraid you can't change your name to Zach Alsop, then."
Zach: "I don't get to marry Marin Alsop?"
God: "Alas, no. But, you will get a consolation prize."
Zach: "What's that?"
God: "A lifetime of geography lessons, courtesy of the partner I've chosen for you."
Zach: "Huh?"
God: "He loves geography. And you. I'll bet you don't even know where the Deccan Traps are."
Zach: "The Deckon - "
God: "His name is James, but you'll end up calling him Jim. Careful, he panics a lot. But, he knows his state capitals, Canadian capitals, and South African provinces. Here, you'll need this."
Zach: "What's this?"
God: "Tylenol. A lifetime supply."
So, there you have it. So close to having Marin Alsop, but settling for me as a consolation prize, he's had to endure headaches brought on by what-might-have-been and, of course, geography lessons. Occasionally, I'm sure, the frustration is so rage-inducing that he's forced to smash whole bottles of pain relievers as a heavenly acceptable release for his rage. Of course, Zach's later admission to me that he spills pills because he can't figure out how to close those "damn child-proof lids" properly, I'm sure, is all just a cover.
Me: "Zach, the Deccan Traps are located in northwestern India..."
Zach: "I can't hear you, Jim. I'm in the kitchen."
Maybe I'll use some of the change I salvaged from his floor to buy myself one of those $0.75 hot dogs at IKEA this weekend.
Posted by James at June 29, 2005 09:53 AM