D. Randall Faro
A New Wastebasket
Updated: May 7, 2020
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I ordered a new wastebasket. Why not just go shopping locally? Blame the dang virus. Here’s the loopy side of story.
Without going into detail about why I needed a new home office wastebasket, there were specific requirements. It had to be of limited size (eight gallons or less if you need to know) and a cover was essential. Not only covered, but a locking cover was desirable in the extreme. (My dog has learned to nose her way into unlocking covers.) Should you go looking for a wastebasket with those three characteristics you will find that they ain’t dripping off the trees.
After perusing about a million websites (each containing millions of wastebasket options), I stumbled across one . . . the only one in the wastebasket universe. BINGO! I ordered that sucker quicker than you can say order-that-sucker. I was then hit with the horrifying news that it wouldn’t be delivered for a week.
The loopiness of this story is that my anticipation of the delivery day became a highlight of my isolated existence. Each day meant twenty-four fewer hours I would have to wait. I would longingly gaze toward the end of my driveway looking for a UPS or FedX truck in the vain hope that it might be delivered early. The day before it was due a cargo truck stopped at the curb and I shouted hallelujah for my good fortune. I raced out the front door only to watch the driver take a package to the house next door. I threw a few good four-letter words at the driver and planned to TP my neighbor’s trees late that night . . . until remembering that I need to hang on to my toilet paper.
On the glorious designated day, my wastebasket arrived. It’s all that I dreamed it would be. Well, almost. After dutifully disinfecting the driveway, the box, and the basket itself, I placed it in its honored spot just to the right of my keyboard. I’m happy with the outcome . . . but also feel kind of a letdown.
The letdown is not having the excited anticipation of a delivery on my horizon. Which is what’s loopy about all this. Forced isolation – which includes not being able to shop – gives rise to the zaniest of mental gymnastics. Being exhilarated about the expected arrival of a wastebasket is not, for me anyway, normal. But a pandemic appears to create new normals. Makes me wonder what’s next.
I’d write a bit more . . . but I have to go empty my wastebasket.