July| Vol. 22 No. 8.02 | Christian's Chronicles © 2015 – All rights reserved.
Why? Junk in the trunk.
Fonda may not have a motor in the back of her Honda, but I have junk in the trunk. Ok, so I am not referencing that timeless classic ode to superior posteriors everywhere, but I do have something to shout about.
I have a trunk. In my trunk.
This may require further explanation, and as they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ve added one below. And, of course, there is a story to go along with it. Without further ado, I shall relate that as well. A couple of days ago, I took a trip to Santa Barbara for a Continuing Legal Education (CLE) conference. For those who do not know, attorneys are required to take a certain number of courses throughout their careers to meet minimum continuing education requirements. This one happened to be in a nice location, so I thought – why not?
Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic regarding the weather, because I inadvertently left pants off the list of otherwise necessary things I packed. I had shorts, shirts, and other items of clothing along with the usual things, but I failed to bring long legged pants.
Not to be defeated by this setback, I decided to rectify matters by making a sensible purchase at a place I knew catered to cheapskates such as myself: Ross dress-for-less. However, it had been a while since I had been to Ross; indeed, it had been a while since I had purchased clothing of any kind whatsoever. Ross has diversified their portfolio, so to speak, and now they carry not only cheap clothes, but cheap household items of a much larger variety than just apparel. And so I came upon the trunk…
I have just recently moved to a cool little apartment in downtown Sacramento, and I am still in the process of ‘making it mine’ by selecting various mass-produced tokens of individuality from the pantheon of consumerism, nicely illustrated by the very impulse-purchase in question here. The trunk-ottoman-thingy was just what I needed to complete the eclectic furnishings of the footrest-less feng shui of my living room, which incidentally also cried out for slightly more storage space. The elegance of this reasonably priced, kill-two-birds-with-one stone solution was delightful.
I left the store, new pants in hand, and new trunk on shoulder.
The problem of transportation first occurred to me when I approached my car. Would this trunk fit in my trunk? Would it require alternate configurations of folded-down-front-seat/back seat/trunk combo? Where would I put my other luggage that I had with me on my two-to-three day trip to Santa Barbara, and wherever else the Chronicles would take me?
My questions were soon answered upon turning hypothesis to action. I somehow was able to fit the trunk in my trunk. It required some sort of flipping and maneuvering this way and that, but it was not a big struggle after all. No unnecessary or potentially dangerous sqeezing, ramming, or forcing of any kind was used. I have been known to sometimes miscalculate my strength, with sometimes embarrassing or even dangerous consequences. An alleged incident on the fifth floor of The Judge Advocate General’s Legal Center and School (TJAGLCS) comes to mind, but that is a story for an other Chronicle…
My skillful solution left plenty of room for my other bags on the back seat, and I was ready to enjoy long-legged-pants-required activities without giving a second thought to how I would eventually extract the trunk so perfectly (both in dimension and irony) lodged in my trunk.
So here I am, taking a break from this struggle of will and determination to tell the tale of the junk in my trunk, hoping that at least it will bring some small measure of comic relief to you, in a way that only the true, yet often unbelievable tales of drama, heroism and adventure you, oh dear reader of Ye Olde Chronicles, have come to expect!
We will follow this Chronicles exclusive story as it develops.