August 21st
It has been twenty-seven days since we were exiled here to Texas. Yesterday is just a blur of subconscious mind tricks. I remember driving Jen to work. We were hungry. Maybe she was uptight; maybe it was me who was high-strung. It doesn't really matter to a police officer. One moment we were not-so-calmly discussing where to eat lunch, the next I was crossing two lanes of traffic and flying into an Arby's driveway. About thirty seconds later I was being asked "what
on earth possessed you to do THAT?".
Perhaps it was my facial expression. Perhaps it was the blank stare I gave as I contemplated the answers to the question:
You see officer, my furniture has been stolen and for the better part of a month now I've been coming home from work to sit on a resin chair while I eat some variation of a frozen dinner and stare at a blank wall before grabbing a clean pair of underwear and a shirt and driving to a hotel around the corner. But that's not really what POSESSED me, that was merely the motivation for slamming my foot down, squishing the gas pedal to the pavement and lurching—no, FLYING—across two lanes of traffic while pretending I cared about such things as turn signals and this ridiculous notion you Texans have plastered all over the highways about "driving friendly" to get into this godforsaken parking lot where I will buy yet another fast food meal that will come back to haunt me later as I sit on my hotel-issued toilet. The POSESSION, as you call it, was the indecisive voice of my lovely fiancée sitting next to me who decided—as I was passing the driveway mind you—that yes, I suppose Arby's would be acceptable for lunch.
Or maybe it was the voice that, before I had a chance to actually say anything that was racing through my head, squeaked out from the seat next to me "it was me." Instantly the good fellow's demeanor changed, his incredulity turned to understanding and he gave a disapproving but brief explanation of how "dangerous" that particular road is. This of course after the obligatory "you folks are a long way from home" spiel that I'm sure he August 22nd Day 28 August 23rd D-Day August 24th The Morning After I don't think I've ever had a three-page hotel bill before. I am off today and Jen and I begin the daunting task of a) seeking out damaged goods b) unpacking and c) breaking down empty boxes and carrying them down three flights to the trash. Preliminary reports indicate only one casualty—a martini glass in a box that was crushed. I suppose it's our fault though, the only marking on the box was some Italian word, I think they pronounce it FRUH – JEEL – AY.
was dying to use when he saw my California license plates.
Just like clockwork, my "move coordinator" phoned me at 2PM Pacific. I've really got her trained now. She confirmed the truck arrived in Austin safely and that my goods would be arriving Wednesday. I thanked her politely over the phone, hung up, then cursed her a few times as I usually do, muttering incoherently about how it was about time and delivery my ass and so forth. Two hours later the Allied agent in Austin where my goods were delivered called. He set up delivery for the following day. It really wasn't convenient for me but I was anxious at any opportunity to spite my "move coordinator" and my future marriage would have been cut severely short if I had, after 28 days of exile, told him "no, I'm sorry, I'm supposed to go bond, drink beer and have pizza with my coworkers tomorrow after work." Oh well, it's just the people I'll be spending 9 hours a day with for the next 12 months. Not important.
Still skeptical of the claims made the previous evening, I left work at 2:30 to meet the movers that had still not called to confirm delivery between one and three. I doubt anyone is surprised. As luck would have it though, 4:30 rolled around and a truck rolled into the complex. Two hours later I had 1200 square feet of brown boxes, interspersed by a few couches, tables, and beds. After twenty-nine days of exile my goods are finally delivered and, ironically, I still have no decent place to sit.
Last night was our last in the hotel. I suppose I should say something romantic and wistful about how it was our home away from home and doggonnit we're going to kind of miss that place. 