IPW

Sorry, Got This Box

I carried a large box home from the office the other day. It was actually on a day when I wasn't in the office which made my idea of sending said huge box to the office a little counter-productive. I usually am there though and am usually not at home during the days when I would be able to answer the buzzer and let the UPS guy in. No, we do not have a doorman. There are two New Yorks.

The New York of people who have doormen, in which people live lives unencumbered by doing mundane things like opening the door for themselves and waiting all day for a package to arrive.

The New York of people without doormen, who have to wait at home if they are expecting a package, or arrange with a neighbor, or have the package shipped to the coffee shop next door, or like ourselves, have packages shipped to work.

The doorman New Yorkers are good folks, but they have never done the character building activity of carrying a huge box on the subway at rush-hour. Having made the special trip into the city to pick up the box I decided against removing the item from the large brown box it came in. As a large brown box it looked much less tempting to potential box-robbers than the smaller box inside with, "Brand New Laptop: Carried by Lanky Seattleite" printed on it. However, though the size didn't increase the weight of the package much, it increased it's awkwardness considerably. Some part of me thought it would be an adventure. Some part of me should be beaten.

It only just fit through the turnstile. No room to spare which meant it did not accommodate my hands carrying it. I had to wedge it in so that it was supported on either side of the entry, swipe my card, and then sort of run through the turnstile, force the package through and try to catch it as it popped free. This would have been an excellent time to rob me of several things, but even the most hardened criminals looking on must have felt it didn't pose enough of a challenge.

It is a two train journey from the office to home. Two trains and a 15 minute walk. The first train (the "R" for the subway curious) was a cinch. Not many people to contend with though there was insane man stumbling toward me, slowly, from the other end of the car. I was blocking his passage, but fortunately he was severely insane and this impeded his progress more than my box ever would have. The train stopped before he reached me. The next train, the "L" proved more precarious. I tried to pick the door that I felt would have the least amount of passengers piling in around and behind me and for a little while I thought I'd made a good choice. But along with the laptop, the package contained a powerful magnet that sprang into action as soon as the train arrived on the platform. People were pulled from all around, people that hadn't even intended on going to Brooklyn suddenly felt the pull and changed their minds. Ladies with strollers were dragged against their will to my door and soon, after the dust settled and the train doors closed I found myself crushed between commuters, half holding the box over my head, with one elbow resting on some dear old Polish lady's mohair hat. It was a precarious stance as I had no hands left to grab a rail to steady myself. Fortunately, I was so tightly wedged in that I could have lifted my feet if I'd wanted to and clicked my heels together. I wasn't going anywhere. As the train lurched to and fro, the sea of people swayed like reeds. Reeds with a box sitting on top of them. My arms were getting tired as was my Polish friend's head. I was getting scowled at from several directions. If someone had to get off they had to duck under my box, and get a bon voyage bonk from my free elbow.

At the Bedford stop, my stop, I had to negotiate with tired arms past stollers and those commuters who had decided to stay on one extra stop just to make my life miserable. Once again the magnet was working, but this time it was only drawn to people's foreheads, the corners of the box specially attracted to eyeballs. I was bodily shoved from the car, thankfully.

The 10 pound box was rapidly doubling in weight. As I lugged it deep into Williamsburg, away from streetlamps and witnesses, it became heavier and in my mind more tempting. I tried to adopt the stance of a man carrying a load of garbage. I stared at the package with disgust, practically willing people to take it. I tried to think of all the heinous things I might be carrying and reflect that in my expression. It seems like it worked. I shuffled past a large group of darkly dressed young gentlemen as if I was Jacob Marley carrying my burden forged in life. They prayed for me.

Once home I opened the package. Inside was another, much smaller brown unmarked package, which made perfect sense. I'd like to say that inside that was another and another and another, finally ending in a a tiny but heavy lead babushka doll, but the actually laptop box was only two layers deep. Had I been clever enough to open it in the first place a small Polish woman with a mohair hat wouldn't be icing her forehead right now. But I still probably would have accidentally poked her in the eye.

Posted by ian at January 20, 2007 11:43 PM