Scary as it may sound, I actually broke several major laws of nature the other day. Including, but not restricted to; taking a shower, going out in public, and changing my socks. You see, I don’t usually perform any of the aforementioned tasks on Sunday. In my opinion, Sundays are for snoozing ’till noon, wearing sweats, noshing on popcorn, watching bad television, and basically doing a whole lot of nothing. The great thing about these activities, is that I perform them so ding dang well. I’m extraordinarily good at them. And I readily fess up to my talent…even to total strangers. If only I could get paid handsomely for this general malaise-like behavior. The sad thing is, they don’t really have a sort of sloth-on-the-sofa occupation in the world of corporate America. Wait a second…hold the phone…yes they do…that’s it, I’m running for President…
In a perfect world, we all have living rooms reeking of Pottery Barn and well-appointed kitchens stocked with matching Crate & Barrel dishes http://www.crateandbarrel.com/category.aspx?c=10 (hey Dude, check out the Kelli plates). Colorful square throw rugs and chocolate leather furniture all co-exist in harmony with fresh tulips, French Press coffee, handmade Turkish candles, Riedel wine glasses, glimmering flatware, and vintage collectibles. http://ww2.potterybarn.com/cat/index.cfm?src=shpcfur%7Crshop&cid=furuph In our own reality-driven world at “Cowpoke Alley”, it’s more like donated futons and second-hand Tupperware. Rugs from BIG LOTS and rockers from Grandma chaotically mix in a playful dance with wilting violets, Vons French Roast, Cost Plus votives, shot glasses, party-striped utensils, pink flamingos and Tigger paraphernalia.
So it should come as no surprise that our garage is not a picture of organized splendor, reminiscent of an HGTV ad, full of hope, promise, and 97 rows of neatly lined plastic cubes from the Container Store. http://www.containerstore.com/browse/shopbyroom/garage.jhtml?page=2
Even though my roomie and I have maintained our happy residence for over a year now, we just can’t seem to muster up the energy, or more importantly, the interest in cardboard box removal. However, this being a new year and all, a semi-tidy garage has become one of several resolutions to be fulfilled (one of the others being Cinderella’s “bedroom”, but that’s a whole other Oprah). Nonetheless, tackling this gigantic project all at once left us feeling both overwhelmed and unexcited, and ready for a couple shots of Jose.
And so, as Bill Murray discovered quite gleefully in “What About Bob?” we decided that taking Baby Steps would be our only salvation. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103241/plotsummary Instead of throwing ourselves head-over-sneakers into boxes of unwanted clothing, shoes, purses, books, and crappy glass vases, we set our sights on the ugliest eyesore of them all. That’s right, the recyclables. The dreaded, sticky, leaky, bulging, starting-to-smell-like-something-alien-esque garbage bags overflowing with Coors Lite cans (thank you Jill), milk jugs, wine jugs, vodka jugs, Ocean Spray bottles, Cuervo bottles, and a small island of water bottles from my bedroom alone. I think in my previous life, I must surely have been a camel. After tossing our prized rubbish into the back of a borrowed pick-up truck (thank you, Jeff), we began our journey to the intersection of Maple and Olive, where the hard-working guys and gals at RECYCO were ready and willing to accept, weigh, and destroy the evidence of many an enjoyable Happy Hour.
And can I just say, I don’t know what those very brave employees are earning, standing out amid a sea of yucky carnage, handling thousands of grungy, grimy, germ-laden containers while freezing their patooties off in an open air building. I can’t imagine it’s a whole lot of money. All I CAN say is that I hope they have SOME sort of health plan, because just being in that ear-pounding, scum-laden-floor, STENCH-FILLED environment for 15 minutes was pretty much all I could take. WOW. And can I just say, WOW. The so-called AROMA was enough to permanently damage nose hairs, induce taco tossing, and generally send my central nervous system into a nauseous tailspin. Whew. If Cinderella hadn’t brought along her industrial-sized bottle of “sand hanitizer”, it’s possible I wouldn’t have survived the drive home. All I wanted was for someone to take me out back, scrub me down with Lysol, and hose off the 10,000 microorganisms from my squeamish body. Yes, I felt just like that poor spotted critter in “Monsters, Inc.” who discovers a child’s mitten on his tush, and has to go through decontamination (AND grow his hair back). Or like Ursula Andress and Sean Connery in “Dr. No”, while they’re being forced to soap up under the watchful eye of the Japanese space-age-clothed-germ-detection-police…all the while being transported on some sort of primitive people mover.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055928/photogallery
Arriving at our casa later on, I couldn’t help but give thanks for having a job where I don’t have to wear thick gloves, rubber boots, crash helmets, canvas jumpsuits, and pretend the smell isn’t making my eyeballs water. Well, at least most days. Sometimes the overpowering scent of bad cologne in an office environment can make one weep chemical tears of submission. Ah well, I suppose we all have to deal with the same sorts of everyday obstacles in the workplace. Whether it be oceans of tin, glass, and jagged edges, or a constant stream of paperwork, computer blowouts, and copiers with a mind of their own. We’re all caught up in the Rat Race of survival; some of us set the trap, some of us get the cheese, and the rest of us just spend our time trying to escape. And on a really good day, we rats actually win.