How Many Cardboard Boxes Does It Take? (Part 1)

If you had to pack all of your belongings into cardboard boxes, how many of them would it take?   Today, I began to find out.

I hit up Box Bros for ten of them plus a roll of tape.  Of course as soon as I started “making” one of these boxes, I realized that without that handy tape dispenser that fits in your hand, EVERY TIME I cut the tape, I lose the end of it somewhere in the roll.  There is absolutely NO WAY I am going to continue like this.  I head to Home Depot, which I imagine will be my most frequented store over the next three weeks.

In front of the parking lot of course are the “day laborers” looking for a job.  I call them Mexicans.  Not because I am generalizing, but because that’s who stands outside of the Home Depot. Day laborers who are Mexican…ok fine, Latino.  Stop being so offended world, nothing about that screams racism.

I hit up aisle 39, then aisle 6, then BACK to 39 where I realize that the tape I came in looking for was actually sitting on an end cap in front of the paint section. Gorilla Tape. Fuck packing and duct tape, this stuff is like concrete strips in a convenient sized roll for under $10.

I leave the Depot, and stop and grab a bite, then I come back down my street and I look at the very unattractive and shady apartment building across from mine.  There are two black guys in suits, using the call box, and one of them looks like Johnnie Cochran if I hadn’t just googled him and found out he died 11 years ago.  There is also a sedan parked nose out onto my dead end street, and a giant black suburban with tinted windows is backing up to get a better view of the on coming traffic, but for once in L.A. there isn’t any.

Two things come to mind.  That is either a drug deal in the midst of happening, or it is a celebrity in the midst of a drug deal.  The one thing I know from living across the street from that apartment building for the last five years is that I 100% assure you, it has SOMETHING to do with drugs.

Now I’ve finished eating, and I am starting to pack my old journals and papers, and writings.  I read something I wrote from 10 years ago and it sounds like a bunch of confounded superficial dribble that makes no sense years later.

In the desolate air of the summer breeze, I find myself astounded that I made the choice I made today.”  

Wait, what the fuck was I talking about back then?

Regardless, I pack it because I’m probably going to want to read that again and laugh at myself with a glass of red wine in my hand, chuckling at the idea of how silly I was when I was 28.  Also as a writer, I don’t think you should ever throw away anything you’ve ever written, except death threats.  BURN them if you have them lying around.

I open the drawers to my coffee table and start to empty out the contents into my first cardboard box and suddenly the cat and the rabbit have to start investigating everything.  The rabbit is hopping to and from each item I put on the floor to eat it, and the cat is stretching where I spilled a little cat nip a few hours ago.

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I put the rest of the stuff on the couch to pack it up, and then I do something I don’t think I should have done.  I decided to dump the dirt from the drawer into a box while I’m standing over my coffee table covered with important stuff on top.

Of course, the drawer then slips out of my hand.

It falls onto my GLASS top coffee table which happens to have a lit foresty smelling candle on it.  It doesn’t shatter the glass thank God, but it does knock the candle over onto the table and splashes hot green balsam fir smelling wax all over the glass, the other couch, my work bag, and the carpet.

The animals go running in opposite directions and I start shouting expletives into the air like: “Fuck!” &  “Holy Fuck!” & “Of fucking course that fucking shit just fucking happened!”

I should have taken a picture of this calamity, but the LAST thing I was thinking when this happened was “I wonder if this spilled wax has enough artistic value to hold weight on Instagram? #accidentallyartisitc

I take a deep breath and exhale and then I look on the coffee table and I realize that the wax could have gone any place it wanted.  I had no control over that.  Sure, parts of the table were waxy, including the couch and whatever else it splattered onto, but you know what the wax missed?  My cell phone and my laptop which were just inches away from the candle.

“Holy fuck…. I’m a lucky duck.”

I scraped off the wax by using an old CD I was going to throw out anyway.  I guess the band Coldplay is good for something AND for nothing.

After this debacle, I decided it’s probably best to take the rest of the day off and come back to this project tomorrow.

Box count as of today:  1

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