A moving truck pulled into our alley. They idled for several minutes.
Jeez dude. Shit or get off the pot. (My favorite saying.)
I went about my business until I heard the sound of the engine shutting off.
What the hell? That’s not what I meant!
As I pondered the different ways “Shit or get off the pot” can be interpreted, I suddenly heard God’s extension ladder vigorously zooming into the sky. It was so loud and angry-sounding my chest rattled. I looked out the window to see what they were delivering to God when I realized it wasn’t God’s extension ladder I heard. It was just the guy pulling the ramp out of the truck. And that’s when I realized I was “trapped.” I immediately texted my daughter.
Hi Sweetheart. There's a moving van parked behind the van. I'm looking at it right now. I can't tell how long they are going to be there. What's worse: I can't get out! LEGITIMATELY TRAPPED. I'm worried that I'll be late picking you up. What kind of shoes are you wearing? You might have to start walking.
Now is as good a time as any to tell you that I, Constance Valerie Kuntz, have been known to make a mountain out of a molehill. Case in point: the moving truck. Another text.
I'm not sure who is moving what. All I know is that I don't feel like I should ask the truck to move just so I can get out because what if they're delivering oxygen tanks or a hospice bed?
I really didn’t want to know. Major breach of neighborly etiquette. Must text daughter immediately.
I really don't even want to know, you know? Shit.
I texted a picture of the truck to my daughter.
God. I just can't figure it out.
I headed to the basement to transfer the laundry. I passed the back door on my way down. I thought about opening the door and checking on the progress of the movers, but I resisted. I palmed the door, gave it a little pat and descended the stairs.
A watched pot never boils. (My other favorite saying.)
Then I pondered the different sayings that incorporate the word “pot.”
- a pot to piss in
- pot calling the kettle black
- pot shots
- gone to pot
- great American melting pot
- pot head
When I got to “Potsie from Happy Days,” I heard God’s ladder getting sucked back into the the devil’s throat. This time the sickening sound loosened the molars in my jaw. By the time I reached the top of the stairs and peeked out the back door, the truck was gone. Crisis averted.
I folded the laundry and picked up my daughter with plenty of time to spare. And seeing her emerge from the schoolbus, fresh-faced after a long day of traveling and playing soccer? Well, that’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Hey, thanks for reading my blog. -Fusspot Connie
Connie Kuntz 