Storage Bin SNAFU

          Yesterday, I had the wonderful experience of clearing out my storage bin.  Well, not just clearing it out, but moving the stuff in my big storage bin to a much smaller, more affordable storage bin.

Ever try to fit twenty pounds of potatoes into a five-pound bag?

Of course, as soon as I mentioned my intention to do this mega job, all my friends were suddenly stricken with: 

1.  Bubonic plague

2.  Malaria

3.  Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

4.  Back pain from injuries they sustained in the Boer War.

So I set off, all by my lonesome, to do what I told my husband, Stij (he was the Boer War injury), would probably be a three-hour job.

Not even close.

Now, I’m one of those people who can get sidetracked for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time looking up a word in the dictionary.  There are so many other interesting words one comes across while on a mission of that sort.  So picture me standing amid stack after stack of boxes of books, most of which haven’t seen sunlight for a year or more.  I decided that I had to go through each box so I could be sure I’d have the books I would probably need access to placed up front in the new shoebox storage space into which I was moving.

Second mistake.

Three hours later, I wasn’t even half finished.  It was beginning to get dark out, so I stepped up my efforts.  This was working out fine until I came across a whole carton of childhood photographs and mementos.  Another hour came and went, while I alternately laughed and wept over what I found in that box (I’m a pretty emotional mover).  I found my original Teddy Bear (who still smelled the same – very important), photos of me at ages 4 and 9 (these are what caused the crying – I’d no idea I had been such a strange-looking child), old photos of my childhood playmates . . . well, you know the story.

By the time I finally finished the move, all broken and bleeding, even my hair hurt.  It was 10:00 PM (I’d started at 1:00 that afternoon) and rain was pouring down in a veritable wall of water. The storage place was closed for the night, and had been ever since 7:30.  The meant that he computer at the gate would not accept my password.  This also meant that I could not get my car out of the lot.

“Perfect,” I sighed.  I waded toward the gate through the monsoon, complete with gale force winds.  Upon arriving, I observed that the top edge of the gate was gaily festooned with a pleasant medley of razor wire and barbed wire.  I hadn’t noticed this before, since the idea of climbing over the gate had never previously occurred to me.

I sloshed back inside.  There was no telephone in the facility, but there was a fire alarm.  I reached out to pull it, but the realized that it would be pretty silly to set it off and call a group of men to bring even more water, and so passed on the idea.

I’m typing this on my laptop, while sitting on a pile of rubble inside my new storage bin.  If you happen to be in the area, could you please come and get me out?