Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Buried in fashion, stairway to Heaven.

I did send out positive thoughts and vibes.
I embarked on this venture with the best attitude.
I felt just like Fanny Brice  (from Funny Girl) on the tug-boat.
Nobody was gonna rain on my frigging parade.
I grabbed all of our belongings, got them into the rental-tuna can, drove to our new flat and never looked back. Dramatic music was playing in the background.

Look at me world here I am,
With all my wardrobe in my hands.
And on my head.
And eventually on the floor.

Unfortunately at my destination I didn't find Omar Sharif, sporting a sexy and mysterious middle eastern mustache, waiting for me with open arms. No.

I arrived with a clearly overloaded vehicle to the The Yacht Club in Brickell. My car looked like an over stuffed Subway sandwich. But not the pretty ones we see in the commercials. My sub-car looked like it has been prepared by a Subway employee who would much rather be doing ganja in his parents basement, than serving you a sandwich. Wanna have it toasted? The Sub server would like to get toasted.
The valet guy stared at me, probably thinking that I just illegally washed up onto the Miami shores and I was asking for asylum at the fancy building. Have a nice day too, sir.

I collected my keys and remote control for the parking gate at the reception where a lovely, wig adorned young lady put a smile on my face. She knew right away, that as a gay guy I was part of her target audience, so she used extra sugar while she was explaining how the garage worked. I also complimented her weave so we are now bosom friends too.

Got in my six inches club-sub of a car, and stopped at the garage entrance. Naturally the remote control wasn't working properly so the valet guy gave another of his stares. He probably thought:
Look at this silly Italian, he can't genuinely get it right today. Bless him.
 I had to wave the remote control like a white flag for temporary truce, by sticking my arm out of the car window, for him to be moved by compassion and open the gate with his remote.
Again, have a nice day too sir.

I easily found my parking spot but I discovered with utter horror that the elevator lobby's entrance was on the other side of the garage lot. Keep in mind I was moving a shit load of crap. I kept singing in my head "I have confidence" from The Sound of Music and just like Julie I marched to the door way with a mother-load of clothes.
I did miscalculate how many garments I could manage to carry in one go, but I was late for dinner with our friend Holy Trinity so I had to power through.
I opted to grab all of it at once. Plastic hangers included.
To understand the quantity please refer to the below picture.

The Mother-Load.

It may not seem as much but trust me pants and jeans are very heavy. It should be written as a warning on the label together with the washing instructions. When moving never carry more than 3 items at a time.

By the time I realized I had bitten off more than I could chew, I was already half way to the elevators. So I decided my best bet was to start perspiring heavily and to carry on.
Once I got to the hall way I remembered why I should have use my better judgment.

The stairs that take you to the elevator lobby.
I should have known since I just brought up two suitcases but I was being rushed and I made a bad call.
My bad.
My fault, my fault, my most grievous fault. Amen.


Seriously who puts a flight of stairs between your garage and the elevators????
An architectural sadist I tell you. I hope he confessed his designer sins. Amen.

By the time I got to the actual door, I was beginning to get muscle cramps and I was feeling slightly dehydrated.
To add insult to imminent injury, I realized that I was too loaded to get close enough to the door's electric lock to swipe my magnetic key.
That realization came in perfect sync with the clothes starting to slide off the pile I had arranged on top of me.
So to avoid an avalanche effect, I tried to keep the garments up with one leg while simultaneously pushing the whole lot against the wall. I must have looked like an absurd Spider Man climbing a wall to save the city from a wild clothes invasion.
My attempt to save the day was not successful though.
As soon as I felt tears gathering in my eyes, I dropped my wardrobe content on the ground and I saw my whole life passing before my eyes.
I truly looked like a high class hooker who just got thrown out by her lover, together with all the gifts he got her while they were dating.
I was crying and buried in fashion.

Luckily this tiny Indian girl was returning home from her day at work and despite her petite frame, offered to help me. She really didn't have a choice since my belongings and an Italian in the middle of a nervous breakdown, were obstructing the door way. Turns out she is actually my neighbor, at least she had to come to the same floor as mine.
She kindly helped me pick up the ruins of my closet and took them inside my apartment. 
"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

Thanks to the lovely girl's help, I managed to put everything in the apartment and have enough time to get ready for dinner.
The bedroom looked like a messy second hand clothes store, but at least I knew everything was in there. Somewhere.

Still, I did feel as accomplished as one of the Wise Men after delivering their gifts. They were traveling way lighter than me, but you get the drift.
I walked far and long but I made it there.
Deliverance!

On my way back from dinner, walking to the infamous door of the elevators lobby I found this:

One of my plastic hangers.

One of my plastic hangers. Decapitated.
A picture worth a thousand words.

I did sleep soundly though, for the first time in two weeks, thanks to a quieter bedroom.
And this is the new view from my living room.

The Yacht Club "green with envy" view.

Those hellish elevator stairs turned out to be my "stairway to heaven".

Ciao for now.

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