January 11, 2013

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?



  1. What an experience! Funny! Hope you had a nice nap atop the piles of boxes.

  2. Oh Lord I may not stop laughing at this one for about a week.