22 Oct

I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.

So I ran across the street and bought a lemonade and a banana.

I was drinking my lemonade on the floor next to my bed.

I put it down on the side table–and it spilled. It spilled is an understatement.The lemonade splashed in so many places it was like a lemonade stand exploded in my apartment. It splashed all over everything on the side table, the floor, the lamp, the walls, and all over my brand new comforter.

I started to clean it up with Windex and paper towels.

I started to clean it up and stepped on the banana.

I was wiping down the floors and the walls when my new prescription for an antacid fell on to the floor, opened, and every pill got wet with lemonade and Windex and smushed banana.

I threw everything away, paper towels, banana, pantapraerazole or whatever the fuck it’s called, detritus from my side table, all of it down the garbage chute in the hall and then I came back to fling my soaking wet and ruined comforter over a chair when I realized I couldn’t see.

I had my glasses on, didn’t I?

Now I didn’t.

I had thrown them away.

So I went downstairs and told the doorman I just threw my glasses away.

Into the basement with us. If you have never seen how trash is handled in a major apartment building in New York City, you might be as surprised as I to learn it is the perfect place to hide a body.

Garbage tumbles down the chute eighteen floors and one more into the ground, enters a compactor where everything is rendered unrecognizable, and is pushed sausage-like into a never-ending bag that the porters must twist and tie off into manageable packages that are then hauled up to the street. It is revolting. And this is the life of the porter in my building. No wonder he looks so happy vacuuming the dreary hallways when he does.

Luckily, the doorman had been a porter once. He quickly determined the compacter had already activated and thrust my glasses into the sausage. He set about turning the whole contraption off, all kinds of switches, nuts and bolts, sectioning off the twenty yards of garbage, cutting blocks off, and after twenty more minutes, finding the last bag, mine, where sure enough, my glasses were found. In two pieces.

I will likely never get to sleep again.

And God only knows what diseases we both contracted. All that from a lemonade. Which reminds me of Sarah Silverman’s awful joke: When life gives you AIDS, make lemonaids.

5 Responses to “Lemonaids.”

  1. Richard Daybell October 23, 2014 at 3:58 PM #

    Living in New york City isn’t easy, is it?

    • NC Coot October 23, 2014 at 4:35 PM #

      You said a mouthful!

  2. Richard Daybell October 23, 2014 at 4:02 PM #

    Reblogged this on Tis Pity He's a Writer and commented:
    Now read this: Another testimonial to the good life in the Big Apple.

    • NC Coot October 23, 2014 at 4:36 PM #

      That was awfully kind of you. I’m very grateful.

      • Richard Daybell October 23, 2014 at 10:04 PM #

        I enjoy your writing and I think others will.

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