The World is an Oyster

Freudian Slips has been online for over a year and I have yet to post a single story of fiction. My personal life is chock full of irony so I haven't found reason to fabricate stories from conception. By the same token, I have been reluctant to post some of my more outrageous experiences here for fear of reader ridicule. This is another Twilight Zone story, as my friend Keith calls them, that owns a familiar plot in my life.

Engineering your own desired outcomes is an acquired skill. It is rarely taught and may be more difficult to explain. Previous posts have talked about the concept and illustrated how this engineering has influenced my life. What I am about to describe may be my most vivid example. Herein lies proof that desks are meant to write about and not just write on.

My wife recently came up with the great idea of adding a personal computer to our son’s bedroom. I supported the idea. I found enough computer components laying around the house to make an integrated PC. With all the creature comforts in our children’s bedrooms, there were space considerations. My measuring tape retracted like a Jedi light saber across his bedroom carpet. I figured out a scientific method to retro-fit a small student desk that would not interfere with the sling of the fold-down attic steps. Respecting the picayune measurements, I scanned circular ads and clipped coupons. Every good storyline needs conflict so enter my wife. After my time and energy went into the project, my wife decided she doesn’t want to put out the money for the desk. Let’s just say we had a little discussion about marionettes and puppets. We totally abandoned the subject, the store sales on desks expired, and the computer components lie in a heap like an unassembled Star Wars droid.

On my way out of the house the following Sunday, I started to think about our four-legged impasse. I hate being a puppet so I put a positive thought out in the world with no strings attached. There must a better way than arguing with your wife over trying to carry out her own dag gone wishes. I told myself that in my travels, a one hour round trip, I would find the right desk to fit our needs.

The first half of the trip was uneventful. On my return trip home, the desk stayed forefront in my mind but I felt like I needed a sign. Driving about 32 mph in a 25 mph residential zone, my neck crooked to eyeball a desk put to the curb. I would like to take this time to apologize for the skid marks I left in the road. I swung the car around to get a better look at its size, condition, color. When you are dealing with my wife, beggars must be choosers. I jumped out of my car and nearly skipped-tootle-loo-my-darling to the desk. Touching the desk, I was pleased to learn that it wasn’t a mirage. It was a student desk within specifications, in perfect condition, and it matched the woodgrain finish of my son’s bedroom furniture.

The way the stars lined up for me caused me both joy and confusion. Surely, this desk was not trash. The lack of wear and tear alone convinced me otherwise. I tempered my glee and rationalized its lone position by the curb. I arrived at a logical explanation and knocked on the front door of the home.

An elderly lady answered the door and she looked more confused than me.

“Good morning.” I greeted. “If you’re setting up for a yard sale, I would like to buy that desk.”

“Yard sale?” the woman mouthed back. “That desk is trash. You can have it.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” I spouted in a dash down the driveway to claim my prize.

After compressing the backseat cushions, I got the desk to fit in the car upside down with about an inch clearance. If I had not just dropped off my daughters, I wouldn’t have had the room to transport the find in the first place. Twenty five minutes later, I carried the desk into the house and placed it in the foyer. My wife could only give it her stamp of approval.

“Sometimes I surprise myself.” I admitted to her.

no assembly required