MOVarazzi

Friday, December 10, 2010

247. TRUCK?

So you wake up in a bleary haze at 6:45 AM and the first thing you notice is the word “TRUCK” printed neatly in indelible ink on your left hand, in (this is the scary part) your own handwriting. You scan the gazillions of yellow post-it notes scattered throughout your brain for a tiny clue. While this (unsuccessful) scanning is taking place, you hear your husband walking out the front door to drive off to work in the TRUCK.

Obviously, there is something critical about TRUCK, so you call out to him in desperation. “Hey! Hey YOU!” you say with the identical love and sweetness you demonstrated when you recited your wedding vows a decade ago, “You can’t take the TRUCK, I need it!”

You are standing in your pajamas (the flannel ones with the snow globes printed on them) at the front door now. You are lucky you caught him in time, what with the urgency of the mystery word TRUCK being written on your hand.

Your husband does not ask why. He merely shrugs and swaps keys with you (he is quite used to your early-morning riddles by now).

Satisfied, you watch him drive off in your car. You hold in your right hand the keys to the (crucial) TRUCK. You look at your husband’s goofy key-chain of an iguana, a gift from your older son.

You sink into a chair, reading the word on your hand once more, like it might have morphed into BANK when you weren’t looking: TRUCK. You start to say it in your brain over and over again, like a Mantra: TRUCK TRUCK TRUCK.

You stare at the letters, which resemble some sort of late-night dance Club’s secret stamp. You did not go out dancing after work last night, and if you did, it was not at a place called TRUCK.

Sometimes, you make your husband drive your car to work so he can put gas in it. But if that were the case on this day, wouldn’t you have just written “GAS”? Other times, there is a shifting of children’s car-seats for whatever reason. Again, wouldn’t it have been easier to just write “CARSEAT”? Do you need to get the oil changed for the TRUCK? And this begs the question: why not simply scrawl “OIL”?

You marvel at how you can't remember why you wrote this word a mere ten hours ago, and yet you can still recall your childhood phone number (454-7388).  It's as if all those disconnected phone numbers have clogged up all the prime valuable real estate of your brain and there is no room left for anything new, such as TRUCK. 

You can’t focus on the “Puzzle of TRUCK” anymore as you have to get your two children out the door to school. You help them with their routine of breakfast and getting dressed and packing lunch and searching for homework. Your younger child, who knows his letters, helpfully point out that you have an important word on your hand. “This says TRUCK, Mommy,” says the helpful child, “You should wash it off.”

No, no, you will not wash it off, as it is the only (safe?) reminder of something so important that you could obviously not be trusted to remember it. The word must stay.

You feed your children cereal and banana, and the older child takes his spoon and mashes the banana in the bowl. “Why are you eating it that way?” you ask him. “I like the banana mashed,” he says, matter-of-factly.

The children finally leave, and you are left alone to ruminate.

Aha! You remember writing TRUCK on your hand while you were working last night at the high-end kitchen store. Okay, good, good, that’s a start, you think. You call work. Your mind has turned into a mashed banana and you desperately need a teeny bit of help at this point.

“Happy Holidays! Thank you for call—”

You cut her off so she doesn’t have to say her long speech, “Boss! It’s me! I’m sorry to bother you, but last night? For some reason, I—”

Now it’s her turn to cut you off. “Oh, thank God it’s you! Your giant empty crate is in the back, and we can’t even move it. What time will you pick it up? We really need it out of here, it’s blocking everything.”

You sigh a huge sigh of relief. Of course, your Highlander would never hold a crate, you absolutely need the TRUCK for the big flat crate. You tell your boss you’ll be right over with the TRUCK, you can get there in fifteen minutes.

That should be enough time to remember what the crate was for.

MOV
(“Mystery Of Vehicle”)

3 comments:

  1. so funny - thank you - imho, it had the essence of the old Twilight Zone movies/show (at some point, I actually heard the mysterious theme music from that show, in my head as I read this).

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  2. p.s. and, at times, it was as if I could hear the host from Twilight Zone narrating this story - in my head, of course :D

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  3. bahahahahaha! now what was i getting online for before i got sidetracked over here?

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When you write a comment, it makes me feel like I won the lottery or at the very least like I ate an ice-cream sundae. (This has nothing to do with the fact that I did just eat an ice-cream sundae.)