A Nice Little Saturday

I thought the worst of it was behind me after moving day was finished. All my stuff was in my apartment; it seemed I just needed to organize it. But once all your crap is finally unpacked and put away, you realize that there are a couple more finishing touches you need, and the pursuit of these items will consume your every spare moment until you’re a wild-eyed shell of a human being, staring vacantly at a Bed Bath & Beyond catalog and wondering how anyone gets along without a $100 over-the-toilet shelf system.

I mention that item specifically because I am now the proud owner of just such a bathroom accessory. Roommate Scott and I decided that we needed an over-the-toilet shelf because our new bathroom is even smaller than our old one, which is to say it would probably fit nicely under the deck of one of those beginner sailboats that you see capsizing regularly on the Charles. So we went to Bed, Bath & Your Soul on a Platter to see what was available, and not surprisingly there were many options. What was surprising was that all the cheap- est models looked like they aspired to find homes in fancy European mansions, assuming that owners of fancy European mansions go for toilet furniture. They were tacky, faux wrought-iron numbers with lots of curlicues, and matching magazine holders. I never suspected I’d have an opinion on above-toilet shelving, but I strongly disliked these. They were pretentious, and if you need shelves over your toilet you have no right to assume an air of gentility. That’s like carrying around your Kraft mac-and-cheese coupons in a fake gold money clip.

The only decent-looking option (simply a metal frame with wooden shelves) was also the most expensive, at $100. But I bought it because I care what my toilet shelves say about me. This piece says, “Prominently display some Kiehl’s products on me, for I am equal to the task. Men, admire my sturdy, austere form and covet me for your own apartment while taking a leak. Women, though you are facing in the wrong direction to gaze upon my purposeful lines, perhaps you may linger upon me for a few moments while washing your hands.”

While B, B & B also furnished me with two bedside tables, two sets of sheets, a bicycle wall rack and a Jelli board, our needs went beyond the bed and bath. My next trip took me down to the second ring of hell, Home Depot. I needed to get a propane tank filled, and the charming independent local hardware store had none. Maybe Mom and Pop are too distracted by the foreclosure notices to keep track of their inventory.

Home Depot keeps the propane tanks in the garden section, which is outdoors and contains nearly as much plant life as is burned each day by Amazon cattle farmers or Snoop Dogg. There was one woman working the entire department, and Lewis, Clark and Sacagawea couldn’t have found her with a GPS and a team of police dogs. (I suspect she was hiding overhead in the lipstick plants.) So I dragged my propane tank through the aisles aimlessly, eventually stopping to rest at a beautiful gazebo oasis. When I regained my strength, I took my bearings and began the trek to the entrance, where I persuaded a security guard to radio for help. After about 20 more minutes, an orange-vested minion of Lord Depot arrived with a full tank, which was at least nice and new. I always get a lot of satisfaction from exchanging a rusty propane tank for a new one—it makes me feel like I’m getting away with something.

I still had some more shopping to do, so the next stop was Target. As I trudged past the in-store Taco Bell I wondered why all the companies in the Everett retail park don’t just cut the pretense and put it all under one roof. Right on, Target and Taco Bell. Give me one store that’s so big and comprehensive I’ll never have to go anywhere else. Have a big old orgiastic merger and get it over with. I don’t want to go to Home Depot—I want to go to the Home Depot section of UltiMart and ride the aisles in my golf cart, shopping for lumber and Old Navy ringer tees. If I’m going to kill my day shopping for boring-yet-necessary merchandise, just let it be over with as quickly as possible. I need all the time I can find to talk to my shrink about the Red Sox and how to beat post-traumatic stress disorder. ∂