Owie...

Today I picked up a new entertainment center for my living room.

Yeah... then I put it right back down (rimshot!).

Seriously, I managed to con the woman that I was getting it from (for free!) to hoist it down three flights of stairs with me. This involved taking every part that could be removed off (and some that couldn't, but came off anyway) and screaming alot. Also crying.

Now, for most people this would be the bulk of the story... but you've heard that one before.

Bah, I tell you.

Instead, I will tell you that this behemoth took up my entire backseat and half of my front seat. The discomfort I felt getting that beast down the stairs was like a romp in the meadows of youth, coupled with a bath in ambrosia compared to the nightmare of forcing my legs around my gearshift and pressing my chest against the steering column in some ludicrous mockery of clown car gymnastics. Had I 14 or so friends in there, I might have declared myself having juvenile sorts of fun. Haha.

Crushed as I were, with forehead straining the windshield for space, I drove 1/2 a mile before locating someone that might be able to help me.

This woman, whom I know from years ago as co-worker, now assists me in my search for temporary employment. I recently bestowed banana bread upon her and her daughter, and I thought she might be willing to see me as a poor soul in need of aid.

When she saw the compartment that I had driven in she gasped in horror. This is a good indicator that help will be forthcoming.

"You can't drive like that," she said, shocked that I had done so.
"You can't drive like that," she repeated, with a change in tone, turning to look at my tall self.

"You can't drive like that," she finalized, marching me into the spacious offices of "Dolt Temporary Employment".

She handed me old computer cables (which I kept), hoping that they might secure the back of my vehicle, from which she planned to draw forth a portion of the leviathan that resided within.

But then she changed her mind. "Bungies," she declared as if struck by the sharp edge of inspiration," and we wandered about her office finding all manner of things unbungie-like. We did find several rubber bands, but we thought it best to exclude them from the process.

We also found a very tall, dark, ominous, and locked closet. This created quite a stir, as no one could recall having seen the closet before. Keys clattered, and the landlord was called in, who merely scratched her head.

"I don't think I've ever seen this," she announced, wandering off and leaving us to our own devices.

My friend turned to me, asking, "do you know what we could use to get in?"

"Det cord," I offered. She politely declined.
"A sledgehammer?" Again, no.
I followed her to the kitchen area. Yes, the office has a kitchen. A real one. Don't ask me.

She drew out something I had not seen since high school.

An icing spatula.

Let us shower praise upon the inventor of this marvelous tool. It is apparently durable enough to jimmy open a locked closet (kids, do not try this at home).

This closet had become something of a mystical portal for me, into which we might travel and see all manner of mythical creatures in a Lewisian setting with scope and grandeur. Or perhaps some dark place with the steam of the underground roiling past as we unleashed a veritable Box L'Pandora upon the world.

Inside we found about 20 phones, a cash register that is older than any living member of my extended family, and a roll of duck(tm) tape.

Perfect.

A man of great wisdom once said, "if you can't fix it... duck it!"

Words to live by.

We actually taped my car shut. Do not try this at home... we are professionals.

Shortly after arriving home and cleaning everything in sight and cooking dinner 3 men arrived and quickly drew the beast into the home like an intake of breath.

And then it was settled.

"The damage doesn't look as bad from out here."
C-3PO, "Star Wars"