two weeks ago, i bought a 68” leaning mirror. it’s framed in textured gold wood and is the perfect size and design for my soon-to-be dressing room. when i was ready to checkout i asked for assistance and the brotha, slight build, maybe 5’4”, asked me if i had a truck. i shook my head, i have a sedan. he gave me the side-eye and twisted his mouth, pull your car around…
never mind it was a sunday and i was wearing a dress and boots, i hopped into the backseat of my sedan and attempted to pull the seats forward. the left side was stubborn and refused to release, the middle and right side popped down with ease. i drove around front and Slim Shady carried the mirror out. more side-eye. he was shivering from the cold and his utter lack of body fat. his posture said, ain’t no way this big ass mirror is gonna fit in her little ass trunk but i’ll try it anyway. and he did. the shoulders of the mirror wouldn’t clear the opening between the two seats. he gently set it down and gave me the “i told you so” look, which i ignored and asked, can i leave it and come back? he explained the process: you have three days to pick it up, we’ll photocopy your receipt and you sign it. he marked the return date: february 14. how ironic.
disappointed with this and even more disappointed at the exorbitant third party delivery service, (the cost was more than the damned mirror) i conferred with my sister who advised me to rent a u-haul. she rented one to transport a 55” flat screen tv that wouldn’t fit in her car. so i left my gilded mirror on sunday and returned on tuesday in an 8’ u-haul truck, bespoke in a cream colored blazer, black slacks, and via spiga flats. the clerk loaded the mirror and as i maneuvered the beast up the highway, careful to avoid the left lane for fear i’d misjudge the distance and tear up the driver side or clip another motorists mirror, i laughed at my damned self. my mind drifted to more than a dozen years earlier when i drove my dad’s 3-quarter-ton pick-up, the Blue Goose, with a sofa loaded in the back, across the river to a girlfriend’s house. she needed furniture and my mom had a museum of sofas, chairs, and such so the sofa was all hers. my homegirl rode shotgun and howled as i pushed the the Blue Goose across the sam jackson bridge in my work clothes. like a boss then, and now.
i rolled up to my house, sans garage door opener, and backed the truck into the driveway. like superman in a phone booth, i transformed into moving clothes and laced up my sneakers. neither via nor spiga was made for climbing. i dropped the liftgate, hoisted myself into the back of the truck, slid the mirror to the edge, jumped down and southpark shuffled this nearly 6’ mirror through the garage and into the dressing room. quick as a flash, i changed back into my work clothes and eased the monster truck through my neighborhood and back to the u-haul store and returned to work, but not before adding $11 to my bill by returning the tank to full. all i all i saved about $25 by doing it myself as well as the hassle of a 4-hour window waiting for “2-men-and-a-truck” to deliver a $99 mirror.
a week later i arrived home and both the trash and recycle bins were in front of the house, open and filling with rain water from the monsoon. my 8’ x 10’ rug was delivered, propped up against the side of the house. like denzel in “the equalizer”, i walked through the rain to the curb, tipped each bin to drain the water and rolled both of them into the garage. i opened the front door, pulled the rug toward me and let it fall like a giant sequoia onto my hardwoods. i pushed the rug forward to clear the door and looked around.
the light fixture over the counter still needs attention from an electrician. another mirror is leaning, although it was designed to hang, against the living room wall. the router is perched above the fireplace because…that’s a long story about a service tech who was more interested in telling me about his best friend who died of a heart attack due to a younger gifrlfriend and too much viagra, than in positioning my access points and router in the office as requested. i stared at the unfinished projects, the rug pad in the corner, the new rug blocking the entryway, and without so much as a sigh entered the bedroom and prepared to shut it down for the night.
in addition to all of this, the a1 light is on in the Silver Bullet, beckoning a trip to the dealership. what appears to be an oil change will likely turn into four additional “critical” repairs that they recommend completing post haste to avoid “irreparable damage” to this hose, that pump, or some other esoteric auto part that i haven’t a clue about.
at no point did a jingle play and a superhero appear with an s emblazoned across his chest, lift both bins over his head and into my garage. neither did said mythical figure balance the rug on his shoulder, rip it open and stretch it out in my living room. these tasks will wait for me to deal with them after work on another evening.
this, my friends, is the life of this singleblackfemale. it may take days or weeks to get the rug laid out, the oil changed, and the light fixture repaired because i am one person juggling a dozen tasks between work and home. to avoid losing my shit and coming unhinged on the clerk at sprouts, i’ll need a glass of black velvet and some deep breathing exercises. maybe then i can cross one task off my list and feel like i’m winning.