Sunday Night Office Update Part III

...screw the office, it's all about the basement now...

So. Perhaps you've been wondering: Did the sewer explosion business last week do a number on Mr. IQ's 40,000 tonnes of crap currently amassed in our basement?

The sad answer to that is no. Damn it all to hell, no. His stuff is doing just peachy, thank-you, and sends you its warmest, non-sewage-covered regards.

How could this be, you ask? Easy. The previous owners of this house, for reasons we don't quite understand, but probably involving the disposal of dead bodies, built a wooden platform floor in the basement. All his stuff is located on the platform. All the sewage has been going under it.

I have not written about the pack-rat situation for a while here because, as per usual, thinking about it makes me want to tear my hair out. Stuff has been moved out of this place, honestly, I think we have removed a minimum of fifty boxes since last February, and here's the thing: It hasn't even made a dent. Not a dent. Not one little motherplucking dent.

What's more: Last week, in an attempt to regain at least SOME order to my life, I decided to clean out the car. Actually, I was inspired to do this after giving my dad a ride. (He'd spent the trip sharing the passenger seat with a large tractor tire inner tube, something I'd found a little mortifying.

"Sorry dad, you know I live with a pack rat," I'd said apologetically.

"Mmphhh," he'd said, uncomfortably suckling on his kneecaps.)

So yeah, I cleaned out the car and discovered to my horror that the trunk was harbouring at least seven boxes of stuff which I thought had been sent to the thrift store in February. Stuff old you-know-who was having trouble letting go of. Stuff like:

1. A moldy picture frame, sans back.

2. An embarrassingly huge pair of bright yellow headphones circa 1981 which plays AM radio stations.

3. A book on Finnish Disco Moves, crumpled

4. A bunny on a stick

5. A coffee mug that says "Still Frisky at 40"

In another time, in another age, I would have found this all hopelessly charming and amusing. But I'll tell you, when I saw that bunny on a stick, I could have... I could have... well, uh, do you know the meaning of the word "gerbilism"? Just for the record, I didn't know the exact word either until I looked it up for the purposes of this post, and my hunt for it is really a story unto itself: sooooooo embarrassing. (There's gonna be a lot of people out there tonight saying, "Guess what sicko came to my site today!!" I really hope no-one confiscates our computer anytime soon.) Anyway. Anyway. The bunny and everything else is gone now. The threat of un petit lapin dans le derriere really got things cracking.

But I've got to go. They've just issued a tornado watch for the city. Oh my God. If I have to spend the evening huddled in that stinking, crap-filled pithole of a basement tonight, someone is going to die.

Probably me.