Gullible's Travels

Recent events have been quite momentous, at least to the extent that never before had all six members of Brumpelstiltskin (BS) vied so aggressively for the rights to document the same topic. Greenspanke, for instance, jumped at the financial implications; whilst Michail dubbed it an ideal tie-in to his planned piece on Presidential historian Allan Lichtman; and MC Gallagher, with not a hint of sarcasm, decreed it the stuff of rock operas.

In the end, though, the events were judged so ridiculous and coincidental, so cruel yet comical—so, well, Dickensian—that we decided that I (as the closest thing Mic's Tape has to a literateur) should have the honor of attempting to do them justice. So here, without further ado, is the recent tale of a certain (unnamed) BS member's first 48 hours in his new apartment.

Chapter I
On 31 Jul 2008, after weeks of tempestuous sorting and tumultuous cleaning amid the howling winds of procrastination; after hours of bitter packing amongst the frigid limitations of a 14-foot U-Haul; after nearly backing said U-Haul into the porch of his soon-to-be former residence, thus commencing a turbulent transport over the roiling potholes of cobblestone streets; and, finally, after nearly securing sweet shelter (for both himself and his belongings) from the chaotic storm of moving, our young hero naively closed the auto-deadbolting door to his new abode—thereby locking 10% of his belongings, four friends, and himself without; and 90% of his belongings; one friend’s purse, and his house KEY within!

Chapter II
In response, rather than pay Landlord a scorchingly steep after-hours unlocking fee of $50 (before his lease had technically even begun, no less), our protagonist opted to sojourn at a friend's, where he lay awake, tossing and burning in vexation until the seething heat of self-reproach at last yielded to sleep. He awoke the morning of 1 Aug 2008 and, with the searing smoke of his recent blunder still thick in his mind, drove to Landlord for the spare key, and thence back to his new parking lot where, with his final load of belongings in tow, he prepared to re-enter his new abode, and thus extinguish any last embers of exasperation.

But alas, after shifting into Park he realized that he could not remove his car KEY from its ignition. Believing it to be physically stuck (and not bound by electrical glitch), he ingenuously responded by removing a set of pliers from his IKEA toolbox (situated irresistibly beside him in the passenger seat), which of course resulted not in success but in quite literally breaking his key in two—half in said pliers and half still in the ignition—hence reigniting the fiery flames of frustration!

Chapter III
Soon after phoning Mechanic to order an expensive ignition removal device, our hero somehow managed to remove the car key using the considerably less expensive apparatuses known as thumb and forefinger, and thus canceled the aforementioned order only to then, upon checking his mail, make the wrenching discovery that his postal box lacked a latch for locking, which he knew could come back to screw him should his hammered college-aged neighbors decide to open his box and theft coveted Netflix envelopes (or other valuable parcels). At once, he bolted back to the phone to request prompt maintenance from Landlord and, on the following afternoon of 2 Aug 2008, he returned home to find new hardware on his postal box.

But lo and behold, into said hardware his mail KEY no longer fit! Now on the verge of going completely nuts (and convinced that surely a new key had been left on the premises), he proceeded to implement a lengthy, scouring search of his new dwelling. And just when we thought every last inch had been sifted through, and just as he prepared to clamp his head within the liberating vice of a stiff drink, he looked up and saw—there, in the most obvious and rational of places—his new mail key taped to the inside of his new front door. "Oh, what a massive tool I am", he thought to himself as he grabbed the key. And from there he could only smile.