Enter our hero (shocked and slightly embarrassed at the sight of Larry in a towel). I finished my magnum opus in a matter of eight days, proving that man is still better than machine, then I lay down my hammer and died. That was Wednesday. Then, looking up, I realized I had only two days before my parents showed up for my graduation. (Good thing I checked with the registrar to make sure I was actually graduating—I’d to have to re-take that class taught by Satan.) The trouble is, when I get stressed, my place gets trashed. For me, picking up after yourself is a function of a peaceful mind. A man on the edge of a breakdown doesn’t have time to do laundry. I called in my trusty friend and for two days straight we cleaned (this is incontrovertible proof that she loves me). I was lucky: after only 24 hours of digging, we hit carpet. By Thursday night, everything was finished except scrubbing the bathtub and the tile in the bathroom (it still need some scrubbing, if anybody wants to volunteer). Valerie went home around 10, and I stayed up to wait for mi parientes.
It’s officially a 16 hour drive from Tulsa to Charlotte, 17 with the time change. They had their own minor catastrophes on their end which had them leaving Tulsa at around 8 am instead of my mom’s preferred 5:00. (If anyone ever managed to live according to my mom’s planning, they would have conquered the world by the age of 24, all while managing to be healthy, well-rounded, and a parent—proving that Alexander the Great was nothing more than a sissy.) This meant that they should have gotten in sometime between two and three. A painful trip, but worse things have happened. Around 12 or 1 I went to bed and set an alarm for 2:00. I got up at 2 and called my mom’s cell. They were on Interstate 26 heading toward Asheville (away from Charlotte!). Apparently, lovely Mapquest had told them to go from I-26 to I-85. The actual preferred route from Asheville to Charlotte is to take I-26 to US 74 to I-85. I-26 meets I-85 in South Carolina, adding another 20-50 miles to the trip if you go that way. My parents knew they weren’t supposed to go to SC, so when they hit the border, they turned around. I gave them the proper directions and went back to bed, resetting my alarm for 4:00 in the morning. At 4:00 I called again. This time they were on I-85, having driven all the way through to the other side of town. Apparently sleep deprivation can do bad things to your ability to recognize your exit. I gave them new directions and decided to just stay up and wait for them. I was also informed that cell phones were dying. Somehow the car battery adapter got put in the wrong car. At 4:30 I called again. My dad’s phone was already gone. My mom’s phone said it should be. But they were finally on the right road to my apartment. They were also so tired that they were inadvertently driving at about 20 miles an hour. It was exactly 5:00 when they pulled into my parking lot. They were on the road for 20 hours. I love my parents.
Needless to say, they were out for a while. For me though: Graduation rehearsal, Baccalaureate, picking up sister from the airport (a job done by my lovely assistant)… I had fun trying to explain to some , whose parents weren’t religious enough to attend Baccalaureate, how there was no way that a service at a moderately liberal Christian university could possibly be “spiritually significant” enough to my zealous parents. True to form, we had the exact discussion afterward that I was anticipating. Let’s just say that a service that can be applicable to all faiths is pretty much useless to any particular set of beliefs. Ironically, that evening we went to MorningStar for their standard Friday night service, where we all promptly fell asleep. We left in embarrassment after the music. They were about to get downright Pentecostal on us and we figured it would make them feel bad if even a shouting service lulled us to sleep. Sometime during the MorningStar service, my cousin and her parents showed up from Virginia, and they came over after we came home and stayed and talked with us until I kicked them out around midnight.
That was Friday. Then Saturday: Graduation, lunch with Yujiro’s (my former roommate’s) family, help Valerie move, and then came the cool stuff.
We have a slight genetic disorder in our family. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. I call it a compulsive giving disorder. It’s bad. Really bad. For years now, the Christmas presents have never managed to fit under one tree. We won’t discuss birthdays. My mother has it, and her mother before her. My sister and I (very carefully) are trying to balance this against my dad’s side of the family, which has a compulsive saving disorder. Between the two sets, Ces and I hope to come up normal, well-rounded people. But you never know.
My family isn’t particularly well off by any standard (except for Yujiro’s, since he measures wealth in square footage. Japanese families typically live in 2 bedroom apartments). Nevertheless, for a combination of graduating, and my birthday coming up in a month or so, I was given a “new” car, a new bed, and an aquarium (which would be from my sister).
I was pretty blown away by all this.
Basically, my dad has a bunch of cars (like five or six) all sitting in his driveway that all work about 80%. They rotate. They get one fixed just in time for the next one to break. So my dad decides to give me a car. He picks the Ford Taurus station wagon, which needs a new transmission. He doesn’t have the money for a new transmission, which is why the car has been sitting there for a while. My dad calls up his dad, who gives him money to help with the transmission. They fix up the Taurus, and then my dad’s mechanic friend decides that they need to re-do all their work before it’s done right. So, the day before they leave, I get the Honda Accord that’s been working for a month or so now. (see how this rotation thing works?) This has several advantages for me: first, the Accord has a CD player in it. The Taurus has a CB radio. Don’t ask. Secondly, I just like accords, no matter what auction they were bought at.
Then for the bed. My parents had $200 in budget to come and find me a magical bed that only costs $200. I’ve spent months looking in ads and places, finding most complete bed sets in the minimum range of $400—500. This I want to see. Saturday afternoon, after further playing with the car and generally making me nervous, we went out to look for beds. We found ads in the newspaper (miraculously) that spoke of complete queen sets for only $169. We also found (not so miraculously) that nobody responded to our calls at the listed number. We also found several furniture stores that sold unpleasant looking beds for more than we could afford. And then we found one only moderately store that had banners proclaiming complete bedroom sets for only $260. We also found that most of Charlotte has not yet caught up with the idea that they live in the largest urban area between Atlanta and Washington DC, so they close at 6:00 on the week end. It was after 6 and shopping was over.
Sunday, directly after church we went to this store again, and discovered that, while they did have bedroom sets that sold for $160, the ones where you couldn’t feel the bedsprings cost between 2-3 times that much. They had $200. I had a check from my mom’s parents for the difference. We thought, maybe we’ll check the classifieds one more time.
And there it was. Sealy posturpedic mattress and box frame with maple frame. Originally bought for $1300. Now selling used for a mere $300. Free delivery. I called the lady up, she answered the phone, I agreed to come look at the bed at 7:30.
My parents wrote me a check for $200, told me to buy a nice bed, and left Sunday afternoon around 3:00. We are all very glad that they stopped over night in Tennessee on the way back. I am almost finished resting up from my parents visit.
Of course, I have more to relate, about my sister’s visit, and further foibles with the car, but I’m almost to the three page mark in MS Word. I’ll be shutting up now.
KB
neumatikos 