Falling UP stairs

I was halfway asleep on the sofa when the fire alarm went off. Thankfully, it’s half as shrill as 301 because my sandals (which are hard enough to put on without the pressure of noise/flashing lights) and (allegedly) noise-cancelling headphones were in the other bedroom.

Navigating stairs have been a problem for me since the accident in 2018, but, since the elevators were effectively out of commission, they were my ONLY option of escaping this sensory hell. I’m on the fifth floor and there’s sirens, flashing lights and people running all around me.

I got downstairs just in time to see BCFD amble up to the building, stroll rather nonchalantly into the building and disappear inside with absolutely zero urgency. Good grief, if this was an actual emergency, we’d all be dead. Several minutes later, they just let us back in the building as if nothing happened.

Unfortunately, I got dizzy and tired on the way back up and ended up collapsing in the middle of the stairs somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor unable to get up again. Like I wanted to, but my legs were suddenly made of jelly.

No-one stopped to help me (even though I was clearly in their way), but I eventually climbed my way to the hallway terrified of being trampled and getting on my feet just long enough to get the door open before falling on my knees again next to the hall table which at least gave me something to hold onto until the building stopped spinning and even then, I was too weak/wobbly to walk straight.

I could hold onto the wall, but I had to navigate the open elevator lobby to get there first – which isn’t easy to do since my vision is essentially 30% of what it normally is as if someone replaced my normal glasses (which already need replacing) with those cardboard “cataract” ones.

Thankfully, I (barely) made it to my sofa, so I can sit and rest for a while… once the noise/flashing lights stop.

Update: Someone mentioned it could be “low blood sugar” which makes sense given my previous post as all I had to eat yesterday was a single coffee and bag chips around 2:30pm… but not dinner (because of the emergency drill).

However, I think it was a combination of exhaustion and over stimulation. Plus, I had a headache from wearing those TIGHT, bulky “noise-canceling headphones” that don’t do a very good job of blocking noise.

My building doesn’t have a yard…

Apparently, there’s a festival in the small plaza outside my apartment this afternoon. I didn’t know until I went out to get some milk (due to the almost deafening construction noise from across the street), and thus there was a HUGE line blocking the entrance to the 7-Eleven I normally go to.

This means I have to go to the other one six blocks away. Thankfully, there was a free Circulator bus on the corner (outside the barricades), and, if I recall correctly, it stops half a block away from my destination. Checks map on board and confirmed, so I find an open seat near the door and sit down.

The stop at Lombard/Light Streets was actually home of regional chain known as Royal Farms (the 7-Eleven was on the opposite corner). This wouldn’t be so bad if their coffee machine was actually working OR if they had the specific kind of bottled coffee I liked in stock. They did have a curious “milkshake” machine in the far corner, so I decided to try it out. Not one boy attracted to my yard…

They also had a counter with supposedly “famous” fried chicken and sandwiches, but again not quite what I’m looking for. Besides, they don’t allow food on the Circulator anyway, so I pick up a random bag of chips and a mocha Frappuccino and head over to the bored-looking cashier at the only open register who gives me the exciting opportunity to give her money to pack my own bag! Fuck it, I only had three items anyway… because I forgot I was there to buy MILK which would have filled my blue reusable bag nicely (as Baltimore banned plastic store bags last summer).

I leave the store trying to remember where the eastbound Circulator stop is (what happened to that “really good memory” my brother tried to insult me for having?) when I realized I was already halfway across Light Street, so I guess I’m committed now. It’s only a ten minute walk, and I get to drink my super thick “milkshake” so it’s not a total loss.

Once I got to South Street, I was out of milkshake, but I could see the outline of my building beginning to take shape ahead of me. It was a small thing, but it gave me a little boost to keep me going. The rest came from the fact that I still had a coffee and a random bag of chips in my bag for when I got back.

Five minutes later, I was sitting on the tiny ledge in the corner of the lobby fishing my mocha out of my bag. I finished it in less then 5 seconds and tossed it in the black trash bin hidden behind the old reception counter, stupidly checked my mail (today is Sunday) and went back upstairs. This was enough excitement for one day.

Perils of a morning flight

My flight to Charlotte (connecting to Tampa) is at 9:21am, which means it begins boarding at 9am and that means being at the airport by 7am… so at 10pm I’m still considering just tossing two pairs of shirts, a toothbrush, and an extra underwear into a rucksack and being done with it. But, as effective as that plan is up in the frigid north, sadly, that’s not how a weekend (three nights) in Florida works.

Heck, that’s not enough for a day trip, so here I am trying to find five shirts that actually FIT me (as I won’t have a sweatshirt to hide behind), plus toiletries, towel/bathing suit (that FITS), and masks. It doesn’t matter how meticulously I pack, SOMETHING obvious is invariably missing. It just is, and I won’t remember what it is until halfway to the airport.

I got everything bagged up and placed by the door by midnight so I be ready to leave at 6am… just to be woken up by my bladder around 2am. Don’t worry, I was tired so I could salvage this by staring exhaustedly at the ceiling for three hours asking “why the hell am I not asleep if I’m ‘too tired to stay awake?’”

But suffice to say, I arrived AT the airport at 6am – a full hour ahead of schedule and a nearly ability to fall asleep with thirty seconds of idle time in the last place I want that to happen. At least get me through security first so I can get coffee and stand a fighting chance. Nah, I get judgy “security” agents barking at me about shoes and wasting their time by “intentionally” getting in the “wrong” security line. Ordinarily such unnecessary yelling would be enough to jolt me awake, at least temporarily, but nope. I just had to collect my bins, get my sandals BACK on and wait in the growing line at the Starbucks on the opposite side of “Security.”

No wait, that line is TOO long. Besides, I had an hour and forty-eight minutes to fill. I could do better than some generic chain store coffee. So instead of walking towards either the Silver Diner or the airport food court, I followed the endless moved sidewalk to Rita’s, past my now empty gate and to a Harbor Grille… which was full. So, I could either backtrack to the food court, keep going until I found the restaurant I wanted (in Terminal D food court)… or get something quick from the Dunkin on the opposite side of the ”new” restrooms.

Just as well, it gave me a chance to drink my tepid “iced coffee” in piece – WITH an outlet for my phone. The donuts weren’t terrible, but the gate was rapidly filling up, so there wasn’t anything I could DO about either without giving up prime real estate.

My phone had juuust reached 70% when the gate agent started pre-boarding, so I unplugged it, put it in airplane mode, and hoped to stay awake for the rest of the trip…

New Year, same me: Part 2

I exit the Circulator across from what used to be McKeldin Fountain (soon to be part of a soulless waterfront development), cross Light Street and drop into the Starbucks midblock, not to “people watch” (as I can’t sit down/get up without pain since the accident in 2018 anyway), but because it breaks up my walk back and, as it turns out, reminded me that I was out of cash (spent the last of it on a popcorn and a drink at the movies).

Cross Calvert Street is the vacant shell of what used to be The Gallery, followed by a parking lot and a half-used block with a Chik-fil-a and a Shake Shack before getting to the little patio connecting Capital Grille’s valet station to Chipotle and Fogo de Chao (and very likely a headhouse for the “Marketplace/Aquarium” stop for the upcoming Red Line).

More importantly to this story, at the end of the block is the world’s most conspicuous ATM. Definitely use at your own risk, as there’s (almost) always someone shady camped out there.

“Hi,” the random guy said intercepting me the second my foot touched the curb. “I’m asking everyone a question: What is the average weight of an adult polar bear? Go on, taigga guess, on behalf of ADF and International Autism Day!”

I shouldn’t HAVE to “guess.” I follow various environmental and zoological blogs – including Polar Bears International – but the best my brain could come up for this basic trivia item was “300-600lbs” which is obviously too small to be a serious guess, but more importantly…

“You mean ‘WORLD Autism Awareness Day’ which is April 2nd. I’m Autistic, and I follow various Autism blogs in the US, Britain, and New Zealand and this is my first time hearing about an ‘awareness day’ in January or – and I’m not suggesting anything untoward – whatever ‘ADF’ is. Autism Day Foundation? Autism Diag…”

It didn’t matter. He was gone, left to retrieve his supervisor to educate me on my condition. Sure, I’ll wait right here in the middle of the sidewalk so I can continue a “conversation” I never asked to be in… or I can continue on my way and hope they don’t follow me (which wouldn’t have been hard to do as the valet and I were the only other people on this normally bustling corner).

Anyway, the homeless person “guarding” the ATM remained asleep during my transaction. That marble wall can’t be comfortable, but I can’t afford another guilt trip about carrying around money while she melodramatically “starves to death” in front of me due to situations beyond my control.

Speaking of which, I am kinda hungry (as I only got a small popcorn at the movie, and it was empty before the previews ended). Conveniently enough, there’s an IHOP literally three feet from the machine. Being directly across the street from the city’s largest tourist attraction should be a major boon for them, but only a handful of tables were occupied.

I enter the revolving door to find three bored-looking waitresses milling about the Maitre’d stand. One of them reluctantly turns around, looks me over with an audible scoff before asking if I was eating in or picking up. Her exasperated sigh when I told her “eating in” sounded almost defeated as she picked up a menu and an insert and asked if I wanted “counter or table.”

“Table. I don’t want a booth,” so she took me three, or was it four, steps before tossing the menu/insert unceremoniously into the first flat surface she came to.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “I asked for a table. This is-”

“This IS a table. Geez,” she snapped, turning around to glare at me, while rolling her eyes so I knew how stupid my question was.

“Actually, it’s a booth. I already know what a table is.”

“WHAT WAS THAT,” she roared loud enough for the entire block to hear her.

This a trap.

Answering this “question” leaves me open to a potential macing and/or physical assault (so I learn my lesson on not doing anything wrong), but NOT answering is worse because it “confirms” I’m “too cowardly” to defend my incendiary positions… whatever they are.

“You’re mad at me because you insulted me,” I said, determined not to turn into dad (who would have gleefully ripped her a new asshole with the entire restaurant watching AND gotten her fired for the privilege).

“Fine,” she seethed, collecting the menu/insert off the booth’s table, spinning around 180 degrees and throwing them angrily on the even smaller table to my left. “Now,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to sit down.”

Well, I thought that was funny.

“I meant drinks or appetizers! Argh, how do I always get the dumb ones?”

“Ice water and-”

“They’re listed on the menu.”

“I know. I said, ‘ice water’ and-”

“Back page.”

I take a deep breath, which worked as well as her “suggested sell.”

“What da hell is wrong with you?”

“EYES…WAD…TUR… AND… MOZ-”

“Ice water and Mozza Sticks? Got it,” she said in a normal tone. “I’ll come back later.”

Nothing else to report here other than my appetizer and main course (a simple cheeseburger) coming out at the same time. Oh, and it’s “350-700 kilograms [700-1500lbs],” so I was sorta right… just got my measurement system wrong. Speaking of wrongs, I didn’t have any $1s for a tip, and I’m probably more broken up about it than she was.

Don’t worry, because the 7-Eleven around the corner was already out of milk – and snacks! Instant karma… or was it slightly delayed karma from the ADF guy? Maybe, I shouldn’t have been so hard on the movie… or, maybe, it was just the regular pre-storm rush.

New Year, same me: Part 1

People are always posting about resolutions or worse “New Year, New ME!!!” Not here.

I do plan on doing new and different things in 2024, but I’m under no delusions of being a good person or changing myself for the better.

However, I did go outside for most of the day. Ostensibly to go out and enjoy the mild weather before this weekend’s “Big Northeast Snowstorm” happens, but really to prove the accuracy of the previous paragraph. No, I’m not ashamed of that (regardless of how much my aunt and brother might like me to be).

Anyway, first order of business was to deposit the money from my ONE holiday card in the bank. Wait, couldn’t I just scan it at an ATM like a normal person? First, as everyone likes to remind me, I’m not “normal.” Secondly, I wasn’t depositing a check, and, according to the teller, I made a minor error on my deposit slip (remember those?) which she was able to correct without insulting me. Most importantly, I was out of there ten minutes ahead of schedule.

And it wasn’t until I got to the register of the Potbelly [sandwich shop] near the Circulator stop that I finally remembered the OTHER reason I was at the bank this afternoon. I had enough to pay for my order… but I had only gotten the sandwich. I was saving myself for the next leg of my adventure.

It turns out, if I had walked NORTH on Charles instead of south, I would have hit a branded ATM just a block or two past the next Circulator stop. However, having missed that rather obvious opportunity, the next branded ATM was about five blocks from my destination, had I known that I could have stayed on the bus for two more stops and walked down… but, no, I accidentally got off a stop BEFORE my destination meaning I wouldn’t have had time to trek up there and back in time before my show.

That show was the 12:55pm showing of the English dub of The Boy and the Heron (97% fresh on Rotton Tomatoes!), and it was the most confusing, overlong (there were only ten people in my screening – and literally half of them were asleep) and utterly pointless cartoon I’ve seen in a long time. No character growth, important plot points appear literally out of nowhere just to be either unceremoniously dropped or miraculously solved at the most convenient time. Making it less a movie than an exercise in frustration… and it wasn’t my last today.

It was almost 4pm when the supposed “masterpiece” let out (2hr runtime PLUS previews), so I decided to skip the ATM and head back downtown before it got too dark out.  Not because Station North is particularly sketchy at night (I know it used to be), but because I knew I would never find the southbound Circulator stop in the dark. Fortunately, I arrived at the North Avenue stop just a few seconds before I did, so I was able to get back with a few straggling rays of light over the Inner Harbor.

Photos: Maryland Zoo

Photos: Science the gift

It was 64 degrees (17 degrees C) in Baltimore, so I decided to see the new astronomy show at the Science Center. I had a little time before the show, so I figured I would waste my time in the gift shop. #NotDisappointed

Moving Day 3: Comedians in Cabs Carrying Coffeemakers

This is the last day of my lease, and all of my furniture – including the sofa I’m sitting on now – is still here. It’s frustrating, but the fault of anyone I’d be contacting this morning. Though the Tasker who called me to yell at me because I had the audacity to not already own the truck I was going to be “renting” from him PLUS his normal hourly rate wasn’t helping in this endeavor. After ten minutes of nonsensical vitriol, he hung up on me.

And with that, I was left with literally ONE Tasker who fit my “unfairly onerous” criteria of “two workers AND a truck” (for those keeping track, they’re #7). Not only that, but their ad clearly stated “we have two workers for the same rate” (which I’ll get back to later). The important thing is they were available TODAY!

So around 11am, I get a call confirming my appointment on “Wednesday, October 11 at 1pm.”

“October 11^th? What the hell is on October 11^th?”

“That’s your move out date, according to the app, you move out on Wednesday, October 11, 2023 at 1pm.”

“No, I was supposed to move out YESTERDAY, but I had six Taskers cancel on me.”

“So, um, does that mean you actually want it done… TODAY? It’s YOUR screw up, but I guess I can try to accommodate you. You’re fine if it’s just me, right?”

“Um, no, I’m not.”

“Haha…Um, ha…. Wait, you’re SERIOUS?”

“Um, yeah, I’m serious. What part of ‘YESTERDAY’ are you not understanding?”

“I guess I can FIND someone by 1pm… but, um, that’s NOT how my rate usually works. It’s ME and YOU, ‘TWO workers ONE rate.’ Geddit?”

“Yeah, I ‘got it,’ but it funnier the first six times I’ve heard it. Please, don’t tell me your ‘truck’ is actually a Honda fucking Civic.”

“Oh, no. I have an actual truck for moving. It’s just going to take a while to find a second worker on such short notice.”

He excuses himself and hangs up. An hour and a half later, he texts me asking for an exact address. This could actually work. It better, he’s the last Tasker in my price range. Actually, he’s OVER my price range, but I’m not exactly in a position to haggle with anyone.

Sure enough, a half hour later, two guys pulled up in front of the building with a truck half full landscaping equipment which limited what they could carry in one load (though they did offer to unload their cargo and come back, they never actually did). They did however load up the boxes – including the ones the previous Tasker forgot – and some of the smaller furniture items (lamps, end tables, nightstand, and those storage ottomans my mom bought me in Orlando that don’t match the rest of my furniture).

Just as on Monday, I got in the cab and rode with them to the new apartment. I even showed them how to use the “handicap elevator” to bypass the three steps leading into the building. Next comes the hard part: navigating the endless maze of hallways in this deceptively large building.

“According to the leasing agent, my unit is ‘two lefts and three rights’ from the elevator.”

“Three rights, two lefts?”

“Sure,” I shrugged, leading them down the long, narrow hallway. “I just look for the door with the WHITE stopper as that’s the one – nope, not this one – immediately NEXT to mine. All I know is that it’s easier to find my way OUT of – damnit, next one – then my way TO it.”

I find the unit, open the door, and give them “the grand tour” so to speak: “you’re IN the living/kitchen/dining room, the master is to the right and the office/den is to the left.”

They nod and the “funny” Tasker (the only one who actually spoke to me) asks for the key to get back in the building. Five minutes later, they were back with as many boxes as they could carry.

“That was fast,” I commented. “How did you learn the building’s layout before I did?”

“Easy,” he shrugged, dumping his load unceremoniously in the future dining area. “We followed the ‘EXIT’ signs on our way out, and then went the OPPOSITE way on the trip back. This should take us another two trips before we’re ready for the next round.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the living room of my “old” apartment as the two Taskers discussed how to fit a sofa, loveseat, bed frame, 2 mattresses, a desk, a broken office chair, and a dresser in the back of their truck… along with a mower, an edger, a pair of hedge trimmers, and a leaf blower.

“Honestly,” I replied when he asked for MY opinion. “If you were Junk Taskers, I’d have you haul away the sofa – it’s like sitting on rocks anyway – and the chair. You can see it’s not put together right anyway (they look at me askance).”

“What about the loveseat with the, ahem, duct tape on it?”

“That’s at least somewhat comfort-”

“Got it,” he confers with his largely silent partner, he asks for my lanyard and they proceed to move ALL of it – sofa, chair and loveseat included – down to their truck anyway. The only thing they left behind was my living room rug that my aunt – yes, THAT aunt – picked out when I moved back up here two years ago. The only reason I actually kept it was because it matched my sofa.

When it came to time to unload, they dutifully took the furniture TO it’s target room. They did assemble the bed frame, but they left the mattresses leaning against the wall, kinda like how they took the TV stand into the living room but dumped the actual TV in the pile in the corner. When they were finished with their final load, they brought the hammer down.

“So, it’s almost 3:30pm. That’s 2.5hrs at $52.07 per hour times two workers = $52.07 times FIVE hours equals…” (I told you this would come back later).

“Congratulations, I’m now over my credit limit!!”

“WHAT?!”

“I have a payment I sent off two days ago to prevent this from happening, but they haven’t processed it yet. I also have an auto – sorry, autoMATIC payment on Tuesday, but once that invoice goes through, I’m over my limit.”

“Well, I already waived my same-day service as well as my truck rental fee, so you’re going to have to FIND that damn money as I DON’T work for free!! Got it? Anyway, I’ll put the invoice in, and you can deal with corporate hahaha! Pleasure working with you,” and on that note, they return my keys and left.

Ten minutes later, I get an ominous text saying to “meet us downstairs.”

This is a trap. Isn’t it? I’m going to be killed, maimed or… “we left yr Keurig in our truck bed by accident. Sry.” I go downstairs, get my ridiculously heavy coffeemaker, and they sped off like a shot.

I went back upstairs. I have a LOT of unpacking to do, but, at least, I’ve got coffee now…

Moving Day 2: So the [unnecessary] Drama

The boxes and tape I ordered didn’t arrive until almost 9pm. Good thing I bought snacks with them as I was up for the next four hours packing said boxes. I probably should have bought TWO roles of tape, but whatever. I hopefully won’t have to do this again for a while.

Anyway, I was somehow awake at 8am, so I tried contacting the Tasker from yesterday, but he was “unavailable,” so found someone on TaskRabbit and they were available… at 3pm. Okay, not ideal, but it gives me time to finish packing the last of my items. Around 10am, the Tasker calls me and says they are in DC, but they can meet me between 1-3pm. They contacted me again an hour later to say they were approaching the city and could probably meet me closer to 1:30pm. An hour later, I get a text saying: “Your Tasker has cancelled.”

The guy they “recommended” was slightly more expensive, but was only ONE guy with a car (no idea what kind, but he was available at 3pm), but I wasn’t happy with those options so I found an even more expensive guy who said he had “two people and a truck” available at 3:30pm. Just as I’m finishing up my last box, I hear a knock on the door. Was it THAT late already?

“You order a mover,” the single Black guy in his early twenties asked.

“No, I specifically asked for ‘TWO movers and-”

“There ARE ‘two movers.’ ME (points to himself) and YOU (pokes me in the upper chest). That’s TWO movers,” he said, scoffing and making a gesture as if that should have obvious to me. I let him in and he walks around nodding and saying “oh” at my minimal furniture. “Are you taking these boxes too? I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Anyway, I think I can fit the boxes, the end tables, the two lamps, the nightstand and maybe the loveseat… but first, I have to move my truck. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

He leaves and less than five seconds later – not even enough time to reach the elevator in this tiny building – I get a text saying: “Your Tasker has cancelled.”

So did the Taskers at 7pm and 9pm. I knew I should have hired the guy with the car, at least then I’d have the boxes out of here. In the meantime, I’m getting some rest…

Moving Day 1: A Promising Start

Today is the day I move out of my current apartment and into slightly more spacious digs down by the water. The problem is, I’m only 2/3 packed and currently out of boxes. The calendar doesn’t care if I’m “ready,” I’m getting everything out of here today (Monday) so I can have someone come in and clean it tomorrow (as Wednesday is the day my lease ends). It hasn’t happened in 20yrs of renting, but THIS time I’m getting my deposit back!!

So, I sign into an app called Task Rabbit and hired a worker whose ad said he had a “truck and an SUV” to assist with moving projects. He messages me to say his “day job” has his truck, so he’ll have to come in his SUV instead – early if he could. Okay, fine, I can get my boxes in the back of a Ford Explorer or a Grand Cherokee with the seats down. He shows up in a janky hatchback (a Subaru Outback that was clearly older than he was) held together by duct tape and prayers… but he somehow managed to get everything in there.

Most of it (he left a few things on the counter), holding the rest in place by wrapping clear tape around his dolly. When he finished packing his hatchback, he turned to me and pointed out the obvious, “there’s absolutely NO WAY I fittin’ furniture in this car. You gonna hafta hire REAL movers for that… Like the one I work for,” he said, slickly handing me his card. “This is just a side gig I do, ya know, to drum up bid’ness. I’ll even give ya $10 off.”

With that generous offer out of the way, he casually drops the bomb, “so, are ya meeting me there in your car? Cuz, I don’t have room for you in here.”

It didn’t take all that long to unload the boxes from his car and even less time for him to cut the tape holding them on the dolly and just toss them haphazardly in a random corner next to the washer/dryer. Yep, at around 3pm, 90 minutes after first meeting him (though he charged me for the full 2 hours), he reminds me of his “generous offer” and then leaves, telling me to contact him when I wanted to move furniture.

After a spirited back and forth, he finally agreed that since I have to guide him to the location, let him in the building AND unlock the door for him, that he would reluctantly clear space upfront from me and my bags.

I could have stayed to unpack boxes, but I had no place to PUT their content, so I walked back to The (former) Gallery and waited an eternity for the crowded Circulator back to my current apartment (hence how I know about the boxes on the counter) to order more boxes and continue packing.