Le Problème

When you say things in French they always sound better. So le problème today is the product of a string of events. Since my sister came to live with us, our small bathroom has had to fit just a few more things here and there- more toilet paper, more hair products, more toiletries. Don’t misunderstand, she’s not crowding us. It’s just the simple fact that more people means more things, and our tiny little vanity can’t handle everyone’s stuff.

My solution? I did what I do best- shopped from Craigslist. I found this great bathroom cabinet, brand new, for $30.00.

My husband and sister both have full-time jobs now so they are frequently out of the house. I’m not one to wait around to do things. Thus, upon discovering that I was the proud winner of the cabinet, I got my butt out of the house and headed over to Brooklyn Heights to pick up the furniture on my own.

Wait, what?

Well, it’s like this. After waiting around for about half an hour for the seller to show up (for whatever reason she had her cell phone turned off and wouldn’t take my call), she finally came home. From there it was a quick exchange, and before I knew it I had the piece in hand and was ready to go. The problème? You can probably guess from just looking at the picture. The cabinet is rather large, rather awkward, and rather heavy. Okay, very large, very awkward, and very heavy- at least for one person. Still, not one to be held back I threw my arms around it and proceeded to carry it down the street, into the subway and on to the train home.

WHAT?!!

Yes, I admit, it was a little looney. However, I like to think of myself as a gal who gets things done. So broken arms or not, I was gonna get that cabinet home on my own. Nice citizens helped me at key moments along my journey. Perhaps the most significant helping hand was that of a possible homeless, but definitely drunk woman on the subway. (It was 3pm.) Seeing me struggle with my furniture, she took it as an invitation to talk. As she clings to a large bottle of rum that is oh-so discreetly wrapped in a paper bag, she begins discussing the merits of my find.

“That’s goooooooooooooood. Thirty dollars? That’s goooooooood. Alright. Alright.”

She puts up her hand to high five me. The first of many times.

I don’t ignore her like most people do. I guess because I can’t bring myself to just pretend like I don’t hear her. It just seems too wrong. This, of course, invites more conversation.

Eventually she is standing up next to me. I’m cornered by “Micheeeeelle” (she has properly introduced herself) between the car’s sliding doors and my giganto cabinet. In no time, she is opening the doors of my cabinet, high-fiving me, generally breathing alcohol all over me.

“This is where you put your maxi pads, right? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight? Riiiiiiiight!”

She high fives me again.

Soon enough, she turns the conversation about the cabinet into a conversation about men.

“You married? Your man buy this for you? Oh no? Oh! Indepeeeeendent? Riiight? Riiight!”

High five.

“He better treat you right. You’re pretty. He beeeeetter treat you right. Riiiiiight? Riiiight!”

Major high five.”

Michelle rambles on about men for a few moments. All the while, alcohol floating through the air between us. Other passengers do that little eyeball dance where they pretend not to watch you, but are totally engrossed in your misfortune thinking, “I’m so glad that’s not me.”

“You’re a good person. I can see that. What’s your sign? Libra? Yeah, you’re a gooooood person. I can see that. I’m a good person. I indulge in some vices sometimes. But only when necessaryyyy.”

She waves away the big bottle of rum that is her hand.

We reach my stop. Before Michelle can offer to help me carry my cabinet home and cook me dinner in exchange for a bottle of rum, a couple who has been silently watching this entire event from nearby gets up and jumps to my rescue.

“Awwwww. Well, it was niiiiice meeting you.”

Enough with the high fives.
She now leans over and kisses the air next to my face like an old friend.

Goodbye Michelle.

The rest of the way home a string of kind strangers helps me amble home with my find. Everything seems behind me when I finally make it upstairs, furniture intact, arms tired, but intact. I pull my exciting, bright white cabinet in to the bathroom and proceed to move it in to place.

Hmm. Wait. Why isn’t it going in? What the? Oooooh maaaaaaan.

It doesn’t fit.

Voilà le problème.

Never underestimate- Measure twice, cut once.

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