Adventures of the Oblivious Manhattanite: The View from Shrublick
Previously on the Oblivious Manhattanite
Part Six: I Need A Paper Bag to Breathe Into Because I Cannot See Manhattan from Shrublick
I had heard tales of the alopecia debacle from my friend Joyce. Residents eventually came to realize they'd experienced common bursts of hair loss. However, its cause was unknown.
My thoughts darted back and forth over this course of events, but were quickly interrupted by the man standing in the doorway.
“Hi, I’m Ron,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded yes, but could not muster words.
“Come on in – I'll give you the tour.”
It was too late to flee, but I vowed not to touch anything. As I ran my fingers through my thick, long hair and followed Ron into the apartment, Kitty Jihad halted and groped her abdomen.
“Um, those grits are starting to bark back,’’ she groaned.
“Maybe you should have deposited them at Cubby’s,” I retorted.
We both took a deep breath and followed Ron through the door – one that firemen would need a crane to move if there were a fire – and down a wide and dusty sheet-rocked corridor where death seemed to lurk around the corner.
With my hand still clutching a tuft of hair for dear life, I said, “A lot of artists live here, right?”
Ron turned and nodded yes.
Kitty groaned behind me.
“Hey, do you think he will mind if I use his bathroom?” she whispered.
We walked through the doorway and found a huge rambling room with makeshift bedrooms off to the left side. This supposed luxury loft appeared to have been well kept at some point, but the gamut of lodgers over the years had clearly taken its toll. The wood floor bore the scars of heavy objects repeatedly dragged across it in a manic manner.
Above us hung an old timey factory heating and cooling apparatus, suspended from the leaky ceiling by rusty rods. It was clear from the vintage dust clumps that had gathered on its large vent that the warranty had long expired. If alopecia lived in this building it had to be in that ancient dust blower.
Kitty grew increasingly uncomfortable thanks to the dozen or so fiber filled cereal boxes on the vast kitchen chopping block.
“Where is the bathroom please?” I asked our chipper host.
Ron happily started to explain, pulling out a map and a lantern. I peered beyond him at the jerry-rigged wall behind the kitchen sink. Through a slim crack I could see the world’s tiniest commode closet.
I looked at Kitty and instantly knew that neither of us were going into that spider hole. It was time to wrap it up, and besides, if we hurried we could see another abode nearby on First President Street. It cost more per month but the Craigslist ad offered a private marble-clad bathroom. Should I get out of this place, hair intact, I imagined hanging a framed picture of my favorite bi-curious film icon over the marble commode's stainless steel towel rack.
“Who besides you lives here?” I asked Ron, hurriedly.
“Well, I’m moving out so I’m not sure who will be living here,” he said.
“So who is the lease holder?” I asked, suddenly feeling like this was a strange question.
Ron cocked his head and said, “SHE lives in Georgia but might pop in sometimes and take furniture with her when she leaves.”
I had heard enough. I dove into my best obnoxious spiel. “If I lived here,” I asked Ron as we walked towards the door, “Could I host my AA theater group three nights a week for rehearsals?”
The expression on Ron's face grew perplexed. Kitty and I didn't wait for an answer. I said I would be in touch and we ran out the door into the haunted hallway, descended the long staircase and pummeled through the vast iron doorway.
I checked my iPhone. It was too late to see the glamorous pad on First President Street and Kitty was more than ready to get back to her native Shrublick in order to use the facilities.
My dreams dashed, I climbed back into her crossover vehicle. I had been intent on finding something immediately, as if the ability to haul my life across the Other Borough Bridge would suddenly dissipate should the impulse wear off.
Kitty could see my anguish and immediately consulted her handheld device, dialing a friend who had a room to let in Willieville near her Shrublick pad. I protested briefly, but gave in if only because I was determined to get Kitty to a restroom.
We hopped onto the BBQ and Kitty began feeding me positive thoughts on Williville in between intestinal folly. As the elevated highway cut through neighborhoods and began heading east, getting further and further away from the Manhattan skyline, I began to perspire. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.
Kitty gave me her handheld device and ordered me to call for directions, as she was sure the address given was incorrect. I fumbled with the phone as the Manhattan skyline disappeared over the horizon. I had never ventured so deep into the Other Borough.
I squinted as a sign for Via Vespa Way flashed by me. I knew I had been there before but that fact did not help. Suddenly, Kitty's instructions echoed in the distance. I was slipping away and her efforts to navigate us back on track were moot. I lost sight of Manhattan and seconds later everything went black.
Fin.
(Photo dropfocus via Flickr)
