12.30.2004
The Obvious Solution
My housemate Simone was frantic last night. She had lost her car keys. She suspected that she may have left them in the shoe shop down on Bedford Avenue, but it was long closed for the night and would not be open until 8 the next morning. This was a big problem: not only was she due to depart for the holiday weekend today, ferrying her friends up to a cabin in the mountains, but her car was parked on the wrong side of the street. If she didn't find her keys before 7 AM today, her car would be towed. Regardless of one's level of optimism, that would make it increasingly difficult to drive out of town.
We discussed her options. She could call AAA and have someone come and tow her car to an autoshop where they might be able to open it up and get it started. She could leave a pleading note on her windshield. She could pray to the god of automobile karma. None of these seemed like good ideas.
Enter Al. Al is the quirky fellow who lives in one of the abandoned stairwells in our industrial loft building. He does the odd cleaning and maintenance tasks around the loft and seems to have a sense of ownership over the building, perhaps owing to the fact that he used to be a security guard here when it was an operating warehouse. Simone approached him, wondering if he had any ideas.
No problem, said Al, shrugging his shoulders. Easy as pie. He quickly walked down the street at 11PM to the warehouse loading dock on the corner, borrowed their forklift and drove back here, lifting Simone's car up and moving it to the opposite side of the street. Simone watched in terror and amazement, but Al pulled it off like clockwork. Problem solved. This morning, Simone went to the shoe shop, picked up her keys, and left for the weekend.
I'm still sitting here wondering why I didn't think of that.
My housemate Simone was frantic last night. She had lost her car keys. She suspected that she may have left them in the shoe shop down on Bedford Avenue, but it was long closed for the night and would not be open until 8 the next morning. This was a big problem: not only was she due to depart for the holiday weekend today, ferrying her friends up to a cabin in the mountains, but her car was parked on the wrong side of the street. If she didn't find her keys before 7 AM today, her car would be towed. Regardless of one's level of optimism, that would make it increasingly difficult to drive out of town.
We discussed her options. She could call AAA and have someone come and tow her car to an autoshop where they might be able to open it up and get it started. She could leave a pleading note on her windshield. She could pray to the god of automobile karma. None of these seemed like good ideas.
Enter Al. Al is the quirky fellow who lives in one of the abandoned stairwells in our industrial loft building. He does the odd cleaning and maintenance tasks around the loft and seems to have a sense of ownership over the building, perhaps owing to the fact that he used to be a security guard here when it was an operating warehouse. Simone approached him, wondering if he had any ideas.
No problem, said Al, shrugging his shoulders. Easy as pie. He quickly walked down the street at 11PM to the warehouse loading dock on the corner, borrowed their forklift and drove back here, lifting Simone's car up and moving it to the opposite side of the street. Simone watched in terror and amazement, but Al pulled it off like clockwork. Problem solved. This morning, Simone went to the shoe shop, picked up her keys, and left for the weekend.
I'm still sitting here wondering why I didn't think of that.
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