I have moved to a new apartment. Well, it’s not “new,” officially. It’s new to me. I hadn’t seen it before I agreed to move here, but I am glad that I signed the lease. So far (one week in), so smooth.
The move out was also smooth except for karma.
First of all, I built a bed frame (from a kit – I’m not a complete idiot). I was determined not to take it apart, but that determination got me wedged into the doorway and hall. That’s right. Wedged. Like a clog in a drain. After multiple attempts to jimmy myself and the frame through, and after a whole bunch of “Fuck you, motherfucker, fuck you!” mantras, I made it down the stairs with that bad boy and the bed frame made its way to my new place relatively unscathed.
Secondly, there was the spider. The old place has some . . . issues. And by issues, I mean mice and spiders and stink bugs. Every night I had to check the walls and ceilings for spiders and bugs so I didn’t eat any while sleeping. That last morning before the movers arrived, I was peeing like most normal people do, and when I glanced up I spotted . . . a spider. Of course I was mid-pee, so I had to keep my eye on that bastard until I could finish my business. Then, I had to grab the broom because the ceilings in that townhouse were tall. Very tall. And I am not. That damn spider, though, taunted me like the final arachnid insult.
But the best thing that happened was the closet pull. Yes, you read that correctly. The pull cord on the light bulb for one of the closets. This particular closet pull is . . . was . . . long, almost to the floor, and I got caught on it frequently while I lived there. As I was packing to move, I pulled my clothes out of the closet, and the damn pull cord kept getting caught between the clothes, on the hangers, tangled into my arms. Finally, I had enough and just kept walking. I figured I’d take that string right out of the socket and screw the next tenant.
Instead, the closet pull string stretched and stretched and stretched – then let go from the clothes, springing backward, bouncing off the back wall of the closet, then careening at my face while breaking the land speed record. Before I even had a chance to swear, the little metal knob at the end of the cord punched me right in the face, leaving a huge mark above my lip and drawing some blood.
I suppose I should say now that I am thankful it didn’t take out my eye. However, I assured myself and future tenants that it will never happen again. I grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and cut that motherfucker right off at the quick, tossing the string and its dangling weaponry into the trash.
Karma may be a bitch, but I’m an asshole. Besides, I’m out of the old place. Let karma do its thing just so long as it doesn’t follow me here to the new digs.
