Boston

I just got back from visiting my ex in Boston. He lives in a 2-family townhome in Waltham, a cute structure, small and petite without much yard space. While out there, we were hit by a true nor'easter. The storm came and dumped 2 feet of snow on us, as we watched spellbound from the window. It was fluffy, white, mesmerizing, and a LOT of snow. At this point, Brian looked at me sheepishly and confessed something.

"My neighbors and I sort of have a system going with the snow shoveling."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I asked.

"Well, when I'm out of town, they shovel for me. And, when they're out of town, I shovel for them." He paused. "And...well, they're out of town this weekend."

I shrugged my shoulders. "No big deal--let's shovel. What is it--a couple of driveways, and you have two shovels for us, right? Between you and me, it won't take us but a half hour." I was totally sporty about it, until we tramped outside. There weren't two, but four driveways. Some entrepreneurial builder, who believes big in the American dream of more cars than family household members, put in two of the longest driveways I'd ever seen. They were like airport runways. Plus, there was a long pathway, which led up five very wide stairs and onto a hugely expansive and wholly unnecessary porch. I was all for skipping the front walk and porch, until Brian reminded me that people did need to use something called the front doors to gain access inside.

I kept my mouth shut, though, until Brian started rooting around in his garage for shovels. He pulled out a totally normal shovel and set it aside, then continued to forage in his garage. Finally, he emerged, looking rather disheveled and holding what looked like a small saucer with a stick on it.

"What the hell is that?" I demanded.

"It's a car shovel. See, it unfolds and you can unwind the handle and pull it out. It's a compact shovel. It's for you."

"No, it's a barbie-doll shovel, and I'm not using it. Give me the other shovel." I reached for it, but Brian beat me to it. What then ensued was a brief but uneventful battle over the shovel, until I finally gave up. I was just about to head inside for a sit-in to protest his unfair labor standards, when Brian proposed an agreement. I would start on the walk, stairs and porch, while he tackled the driveways.

"See? I'm all about fair labor practices. I'm even giving you the easier job. You'll probably even finish before me." He left me to the porch as he tackled the driveway. At this point, his neighbor came by with a snowblower.

"Want to use the snowblower?" He called out. Brian eagerly assented and finished off all four driveways in a matter of minutes. I stood there, panting with my four steps and porch still left to go. Brian beamed and waved at me from his expanse of now-cleared pavement. "See?" he said, "That wasn't so bad."

Christmas

Someone has been stealing packages in Sister No. 2’s building lately. She lives in a small multiplex, about 9 condos in a two story building in San Francisco. The condo association is small enough that it couldn’t be any of the residents furtively stealing packages from their neighbors. In fact, one resident recently put up a notice on the association board, warning others that her Christmas package had gotten stolen and for others to beware.

So, I recently sent my Christmas present to Sister No. 2. Because I was super cheap, I sent it without insuring or certifying the package. And because I was super super cheap, I sent it the slowest rate possible, parcel post. Two weeks later, I called Sister No. 2.

“Have you gotten my package yet? I sent it out like 2 weeks ago.” I asked.

“No,” she said, sounding worried. “I think someone stole it.”

“Oh no, really?!!” This worried me—I had put a lot of care and thought into that Christmas present, including a re-gifted gift certificate to Banana Republic. “It’s in a plain cardboard amazon.com box.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that.” She sighed. “Well, that’s that. It’s stolen.” she said, with an air of defeated finality.

“Well, let’s give it another week before we assume it’s lost.” She agreed and I didn’t hear from her again until I got a call several days later.

“I got the package,” she was slightly breathless, as though she had run up the stairs and just dialed my number. “But I think someone stole my box, took out what they wanted, and replaced it with things they didn’t want!” There was a note of urgency in her voice. “They probably thought it contained stuff from amazon.com and when they realized it didn't have any amazon stuff in there, brought the box back with all the stuff they didn’t want! Quick, tell me what you sent!”

“Well,” I said slowly, thinking this theory sounded a little bizarre. “I sent you a pashmina shawl, rosebud tea, a book, and a gift certificate (conveniently leaving out the fact that it was re-gifted) to Banana Republic. What was in the box?”

Complete silence ensued on the other end. Finally, she said, “I guess they didn’t steal it.” Another pause. “Thanks for the Christmas present.” Click.