U date

Not in a taxicab this time, boys, but the back of a U-Haul truck?!?

Let me start from the beginning. Today I got a call that everyone on fucking Earth dreads – “Can you help me move?”

It’s a rainy Saturday and work has been a bitch for me the last couple of weeks. Do I really feel like making a three-borough, nine hour slosh around town in the metallic innards of a windowless U-Haul? No, I don’t. I want to sit on my couch and watch college football games with teams I couldn’t give two shits about.

Alas, I’ll be participating in such momentous events as tape-gunning, sofa stairwell pivoting, and the giant oak headboard long toss. Just to make it more enticing, I'll have to start my day with a 7 train LOCAL to the very last stop in Flushing (plus a bus). Fuckin’ A.

I get to the move site and crazy (i'll call her) Zelda is the first to greet me. Like me, she's just a helper and is friends with the people moving. As is my wont, I’ll try to be as succinct as possible in describing Zelda, but I’ll take the liberty be as thorough as I feel is warranted. Now that I’ve explained how I’ll explain her, behold:

She’s this little sparkplug of a thing who wears librarian glasses, but likes to scream in the street for no reason and sometimes uses a playful judo kick as a substitute for a hug. She also likes to hug.

I learned today that she came here when she was 9 or 10 years old from Taiwan, even though I always thought she was A.B.C.* (American Born Chinese) *Editor’s Note: The author of this piece likes Asian girls, pretty much exclusively. **Author’s Note: Shut the fuck up, Editor, I’m in the middle of a story.

Anyway, this Zelda, is a championship caliber tennis player, her mother died when she was a baby, and she likes to end statements or questions with a very ghetto-chic “Yo.” For example, she’ll say something like, “I can slap a forehand winner past your lame ass anytime I want, Yo!”

She’s also very cute - but not in the typical Pan-Asian, no-hipped, skinny-armed, high and wide-cheekboned kind of way. She has curves and muscles…and these little elfin ears that stick out at an adorable 45 degree angle. It’s me and her and bunch of furniture in the pitch black cargo hold of a U-haul, headed south on the Van Wyck.

Zelda and I went on a quasi double date a while ago with the two people who are sitting upfront, in the human area of the truck. I say quasi because I was the only one who thought it was a date. Whatever. No biggie. I’ve seen her a few times since, and we’re always friendly. So we’re back there and we start bouncing into each other as the road gets bumpier. There’s barely room for the both of us, as we’re almost fully encased in wood and boxsprings.

“I’m gonna kiss you, Zelda,” I warn.

I move in. She swivels her head like she's fuckin' Linda Blair and gives me all cheek.

“What the hell is that, Yo?” she screams, more surprised than pissed, slowly turning her face back towards me, making sure it's safe.
“C’mon.” (One of those familiar Zipper 'C'mon's)
“C’mon, what?”
“We’re practically in each others arms, we’re involuntarily grinding each other, (which fyi has the same effect as voluntarily grinding), nobody can see us, it’s raining, and we’re in a freakin' U-haul.”
“So?”
“So it’s romantic,” I shrug. “And when they asked, it seemed like you were eager to be back here with me.”
“I thought it would be fun,” she purrs while play-slapping me.
“Yeah…so did I.”

She registers the sarcasm.

“Shut up. It will be fun.”
“Says you, yo,” I smirk.

We spend the next half hour bouncing around, talking, laughing and not making out. She was right, it was fun. I know, not a very exciting climax to the story, but a peek inside the zany shit that happens to me. I know I mention that show Californication from time to time, but I will again. There was a line a few weeks ago in there something to the effect that we all live in our own little romantic-comedic worlds. This was totally one of those moments for me.

Incidentally, almost all romantic comedies have the same exact formula: Act I - Boy meets girl, Act II - Boy loses girl, Act III - Boy gets girl. Act III in real life is hard sometimes.

**********

On a totally different vibe, I had the opportunity to spend a few minutes with an Auschwitz survivor today. It was a neighbor of the guy who was moving.

I'm a little bit of history guy, so hearing some of her stories was more interesting than anything Ken Burns or PBS can come up with. She was Hungarian and was shocked when I recognized her accent. (I pride myself on my accent recognition). At one point in 1944 I think, she pretended to be Romanian so she could get a lift from Poland to Budapest for her and her brother from some Romanian soldiers in a caravan. She didn't verbalize it, but implied to me that the soldiers didn't want money from her, but at the same time, the ride was not free.

One thing that struck me as odd was how eager she was to show me her tattoo, once she found out I that was Jewish. There was something so ominous and powerful about those faded green numbers on her papery-skinned wrist. I was a little taken aback by the weird pride she had about it. I don't know, just freaked me out I guess. I had never seen one of those before in real life. I realized a few minutes later that I also haven't seen 1% of the shit that this poor woman has seen in her life.