Sunday, October 17, 2010

My Ridiculous Life

One of my best friends, who has had many an adventure alongside me, once joked that things occur in my life that really belong on a sitcom. I have a knack for getting myself into situations where the most random-ass shit happens, which generally end in hilarity. I mean, they do say that laughing about a situation is better than crying about it.

So here goes my most recent sitcom-like encounter. I'll start the counting at around 100, as I know I've had at least that many ridiculous situations by now.

#100: The flying mattress

About three weeks ago, I quit my job in a small town an hour north of Denver and moved back in with my parents, closer to civilization and a city with public transportation. I have until the end of this month to move out everything in my house, so I have been taking trips once in a while to do so. This evening, I enlisted the help of my older sister and took my father's work truck, a small Ford Ranger, to move the mattress and box spring where I slept to the garage in my parents house.

The drive up was in no way memorable. I remember driving past all the landmarks that have become so familiar to me over this past year, since I constantly drove that stretch of highway on the weekends. I recalled the U-Haul place in a town midway between Denver and Fort Collins, thinking how I had told my mother about an hour earlier that I should have just rented a truck to move my shit. After all, I knew the mattress and box spring weren't going to fit well on the truck because they were too large.

We got to my old house, said hello to my former roommates, and loaded up the bed, tying them on top of the truck, which had thick wooden planks screwed into a metal frame that extends past the back of the truck. Placing the box spring first, we loaded the full-size blue mattress on top of the box spring, my argument for that arrangement being that the heavier mattress would be less likely to fly away than the lighter box spring. I was wrong.

After securing the bed items with several rubber harnesses, my sister and I headed down Interstate 25 for the 60-mile ride. I was uneasy at first, going 65 mph at the max and feeling a knot in the pit of my stomach. Along the road, the truck kept pulling back slightly, almost as if it were bucking. I attributed that to the fact that the mattress and box spring were making the truck less aerodynamic, given that they were a big bulk on top.

After passing the first two towns directly north of Fort Collins, my anxieties began to lessen. I realized if I were going slowly on the right-hand lane, I was likely to be fine. "It's not even that windy," I thought to myself. As my sister sang along to a blues song about an unlucky woman, my mind began to wander instead to other things. Until we heard the snap.

It was on the drivers side of the car that I heard a loud snap, which I imagined was the metal hook hitting the side of the truck. Realizing the hooks had come undone, I quickly pulled over to the side of the road to inspect the damage, hoping for the best. Outside the truck, I looked up and told my sister, "we lost the mattress."

The box spring was still on top of the truck, as if nothing had occurred. But the big blue mattress, which my mother adored and was looking forward to using at home, was missing.

"The mattress flew off," I again repeated to my sister.

Instinctively, I told her we were going to leave the box spring on the side of the road, turn back around and search for the mattress. As we did so, I decided that I was through trying to tie the mattress to the top of the truck. I asked my sister to find out if there were any U-Haul places open where we could rent a truck and get the mattress back to Denver safely. I called one of my roommates, who had just rented a truck for their stuff. "I can't let anyone else drive this," he said, "and they're charging me by the mile."

I stopped to pump gas in the truck (lest I also get stranded in the middle of Northern Colorado while on the hunt for this mattress) and asked the attendant where I could rent a U-Haul. "The closest is probably Fort Collins," he said.

So we were back on the road, thinking that once we located the mattress we could call State Patrol and ask them if they could help us get the mattress back to one of their stations and we could come back the following day to get pick it up. Along the way, we kept our eyes peeled for a large, rectangular blob on the side of the road.

Just a few feet short of the place where we had dumped the box spring, we saw it, lying like a dead elk that had just encountered a car: My blue mattress, which literally resembled roadkill.

I pulled over to inspect the damage. I saw the blue shiny cover lying against the tall grass on the side of the road, a black spring sticking out between multiple layers of foam, egg-crate material and some thin white fabric. It was dead.

Walking back to the car, feeling dejected and beyond sad, I picked up a piece of the white fabric that was floating around the grass, a memento of the mattress that was so freaking comfortable.

We picked up the box spring, threw it back on top of the truck, and set out again for Denver, silence filling the inside of the truck. Rather than getting angry at my sister's back-seat driving, I simply pulled over and told her to drive home. We got off the interstate and pulled into an unpaved county road. Given that it's near Halloween, it seemed like the perfect set-up for the first installment of the Colorado Chainsaw Massacre. Although the GPS on my phone showed that we'd end up on a main road, eventually.

Taking the back roads down to Denver, we eventually realized that the wind was pushing the box spring towards the back of the truck and if it continued on that trajectory, it would eventually fall off, given that there was nothing there to hold it. We pulled over, I pushed it further towards the front of the truck, and we were off again. We established this was going to have to become routine.

Through a stuck of fortune or fate, the next stop we made was in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart, where my sister suggested we buy rope and use it to further tie the box spring down. A great suggestion, except for the 20 minutes I spent in line waiting for the woman in front of me to buy the month's groceries at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday night.

In the parking lot, I used all 50 feet of the white nylon rope to tie down the box spring, creating a net on the ends to prevent it from sliding forward or backward. Then I left it to fate, noting that if we were meant to lose that too, there would be nothing I could do to prevent that.

And we continued on that journey, driving the rest of the way home, eating beef jerky and Goldfish I'd grabbed while waiting at the check out line. Near the end, the situation began to seem kind of funny. I mean, come on -- it's a flying mattress. We also hypothesized about whether or not the mattress just landed on the side of the road, or if it was run over by one of the large semi trucks that frequent that highway. It was 10 p.m. and a lot could have happened during the 30 minutes it took us to re-locate the mattress on the highway.

It was the scenic route home but we made it back, box spring in tow. It's a shame the same couldn't be said for the mattress.

Now I'm just waiting for tomorrow, when my mother finds out her beloved mattress, which she possibly couldn't sell, is sitting on the side of I-25, as mattress roadkill.

And in an even stranger twist of fate, as I get home, I receive a text message from one of my best friends. After two years of sleeping on an air mattress, he finally purchsed a real bed. He gains a mattress, I lose a mattress. The ying-yang of the universe.