A Box: A Long Story with a Short Little Lesson
This afternoon, SS accompanied me as we ran all over Brooklyn looking for a UPS Drop Box. I had ordered shoes online, but not surprisingly, none of them fit, and I wanted that big box of shoe rejects out of my apartment and out of my hair.
We first lugged the box to the Post Office a block away, and we waited in line for 10 minutes. I put the box on the ground and pushed it with my foot as we chatted and moved up in the line. Once we got to the counter, the postal worker told us they don't accept UPS packages (which makes sense, in retrospect), and he directed us 6 blocks down Fulton Street.
I carried the box with two arms, then one. I carried it with my arms on the side and then underneath. I told Sam that it reminded me of this poem, about how carrying a cumbersome box is a metaphor for dealing with grief. Eventually we arrived at the location where the postal worker had directed us. We looked down at Google Maps on our phones, and then up at a store front for an African Braiding Salon, not a UPS Drop Box. I set the box down while we googled another UPS location. 1.7 miles away.
Before committing to the 1.7 mile trek, we popped into a Goodwill Store that we had passed to look for Cinco de Mayo garb. I put the box in a busted up shopping cart and wheeled it around as we searched through racks for Mexican ware. We found nothing of significance, except a baseball cap with a Mexican flag. The Velcro adjusting strap on the back got stuck in my hair, and I had to bend over to have SS yank it out (along with a subsequent chunk of my hair). We left without buying anything, and I picked the box up out of the cart and put it on my hip like a mother does a toddler.
We walked across the street to a dollar store, and I carried the box through every jam-packed isle as we scanned for fake "Mexican-looking" flowers for our hair. We left, again without purchase, and decided to carry the box back toward my apartment. We would decide as we got closer whether or not we were up for the additional journey to the UPS Drop Box. My apartment was on the way anyway.
On the corner of my block, we noticed a new coffee shop that had opened, though neither of us had been inside yet. We decided to stop in for a snack and some caffeine. SS set the box next to her on the bench where she sat across from me at the table. She rested her elbow against it as we talked about failed dating endeavors and the cute couple (and baby!) who run the new little corner cafe.
After we paid, I carried the box with my two arms out like Frankenstein to the corner where we decided to abandon our UPS journey and go our separate ways, to nap and shower. I told SS I would figure something else out, that I would just take the box into the city with me on Monday on my way to work. It was an option I had been avoiding because of the rush hour subway crowds and the three train transfers that compromise my daily commute. But we were both sleepy and I didn't want to be responsible for carrying that big box even one more block.
I climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment, plopped the box down my door, laid on top of my neatly made bed, and closed my eyes. I had searched and shopped and carried that dbig box everywhere, but I hadn't found what I was looking for. I fell asleep.
Twenty minutes later I awoke to our apartment buzzer. My roommates weren't home, and I wasn't expecting anyone, but I sleepily stumbled to the buzzer, pressed the talk button and said,
"...Hello?"
"UPS delivery," I heard back.Without replying, I grabbed the box of shoes and ran down the three flights of stairs. I threw open the door, and before even reaching for the package that was being delivered, I held my box out to the delivery person.
"I've been looking for you all day!" I said, like a half asleep/half crazy person. "It's been like a treasure hunt, and here you are!"The delivery man was mildly amused, though he didn't seem to fully understand my enthusiasm. We swapped boxes, and I carried the new one back upstairs smiling. I texted SS immediately, and very melodramatically told her that this was a sign, a metaphor for our messy, twenty-something lives. That we can go searching all over Brooklyn for something, carrying baggage (or boxage, if you will), up and down Fulton street, in stores and coffee shops, and at the end find ourselves standing in the middle of the sidewalk, not sure which direction to go. BUT when we surrender to our fatigue, go home and let our eyelids fall, that is when whatever it is we are looking for, will come to us. DELIVERY!
Maybe I'm over-thinking this. Maybe I'm constructing an elaborate justification for napping. But I think I learned a real lesson today, that sometimes I need to let things come to me. And probably also nap more.
We first lugged the box to the Post Office a block away, and we waited in line for 10 minutes. I put the box on the ground and pushed it with my foot as we chatted and moved up in the line. Once we got to the counter, the postal worker told us they don't accept UPS packages (which makes sense, in retrospect), and he directed us 6 blocks down Fulton Street.
I carried the box with two arms, then one. I carried it with my arms on the side and then underneath. I told Sam that it reminded me of this poem, about how carrying a cumbersome box is a metaphor for dealing with grief. Eventually we arrived at the location where the postal worker had directed us. We looked down at Google Maps on our phones, and then up at a store front for an African Braiding Salon, not a UPS Drop Box. I set the box down while we googled another UPS location. 1.7 miles away.
Before committing to the 1.7 mile trek, we popped into a Goodwill Store that we had passed to look for Cinco de Mayo garb. I put the box in a busted up shopping cart and wheeled it around as we searched through racks for Mexican ware. We found nothing of significance, except a baseball cap with a Mexican flag. The Velcro adjusting strap on the back got stuck in my hair, and I had to bend over to have SS yank it out (along with a subsequent chunk of my hair). We left without buying anything, and I picked the box up out of the cart and put it on my hip like a mother does a toddler.
We walked across the street to a dollar store, and I carried the box through every jam-packed isle as we scanned for fake "Mexican-looking" flowers for our hair. We left, again without purchase, and decided to carry the box back toward my apartment. We would decide as we got closer whether or not we were up for the additional journey to the UPS Drop Box. My apartment was on the way anyway.
On the corner of my block, we noticed a new coffee shop that had opened, though neither of us had been inside yet. We decided to stop in for a snack and some caffeine. SS set the box next to her on the bench where she sat across from me at the table. She rested her elbow against it as we talked about failed dating endeavors and the cute couple (and baby!) who run the new little corner cafe.
After we paid, I carried the box with my two arms out like Frankenstein to the corner where we decided to abandon our UPS journey and go our separate ways, to nap and shower. I told SS I would figure something else out, that I would just take the box into the city with me on Monday on my way to work. It was an option I had been avoiding because of the rush hour subway crowds and the three train transfers that compromise my daily commute. But we were both sleepy and I didn't want to be responsible for carrying that big box even one more block.
I climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment, plopped the box down my door, laid on top of my neatly made bed, and closed my eyes. I had searched and shopped and carried that dbig box everywhere, but I hadn't found what I was looking for. I fell asleep.
Twenty minutes later I awoke to our apartment buzzer. My roommates weren't home, and I wasn't expecting anyone, but I sleepily stumbled to the buzzer, pressed the talk button and said,
"...Hello?"
"UPS delivery," I heard back.Without replying, I grabbed the box of shoes and ran down the three flights of stairs. I threw open the door, and before even reaching for the package that was being delivered, I held my box out to the delivery person.
"I've been looking for you all day!" I said, like a half asleep/half crazy person. "It's been like a treasure hunt, and here you are!"The delivery man was mildly amused, though he didn't seem to fully understand my enthusiasm. We swapped boxes, and I carried the new one back upstairs smiling. I texted SS immediately, and very melodramatically told her that this was a sign, a metaphor for our messy, twenty-something lives. That we can go searching all over Brooklyn for something, carrying baggage (or boxage, if you will), up and down Fulton street, in stores and coffee shops, and at the end find ourselves standing in the middle of the sidewalk, not sure which direction to go. BUT when we surrender to our fatigue, go home and let our eyelids fall, that is when whatever it is we are looking for, will come to us. DELIVERY!
Maybe I'm over-thinking this. Maybe I'm constructing an elaborate justification for napping. But I think I learned a real lesson today, that sometimes I need to let things come to me. And probably also nap more.
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