Tabatha Deans

THINGS THAT GURGLE IN THE NIGHT
I survived my first night alone in the Mile High City, although with all the little noises within my little home I really didn’t feel like I was alone at all. I put in the VHS tape of the “Graduate” and focused on the tiny screen as I huddled under my blankie to keep warm. The weekend brought temperatures of 85 degrees, so I assumed the property manager had turned off the radiators in the building, believing that the cold weather was behind us. There was a chill in the air, but not intolerable, so I didn’t feel quite right about venturing down to Raoul’s (he’s the on-site maintenance man) apartment and asking him to turn all the heaters back on for me, so I cuddled under my blanket and resigned myself to a chilly evening.
About 10 p.m. I heard a sudden ping, pinging sound coming from the old radiator in the corner of my apartment. I threw off the covers and walked over to investigate. Sure enough, it was a metallic banging that was coming from within the radiator itself. I took that as a sign that Raoul must have turned them back on, and I bent over my little unit to figure out how it worked. Suddenly the spout on the end of it, which apparently serves as a tea kettle effect, emitted a loud hiss as it spewed cool air out the top of it, directly into my face. Startled, I jumped back under my covers, and spent a few minutes worrying about the possibility of the old radiator exploding and blowing me to smitherines. Finally I talked myself out of the panic, they were probably more than 50 years old, and if it were going to blow up they would have done so long before now. I ventured back out of my blankie and went over to enjoy the warm heat that was now radiating off the unit.
Happy and warm, I finished watching the movie and turned off the t.v. To get some sleep. My eyelids were heavy and my body was tired and I felt a comfortable slumber start to take over. Then I heard what could only be described as a loud stomach rumbling. Like when you’re really hungry and your body rebels with a rumble that starts deep down and slowly works its way up your belly. I shot up once again to listen for this new offending noise, and realized it was coming from the small fridge that stands next to the kitchen. I listened closely. There it was again. The fridge was rumbling from within. I went over to investigate, opening the doors and checking the cord. All was in order, and it didn’t seem in danger of blowing up, (notice the theme in my new fears?), so I went back to bed, where I finally let the symphony of bang, hiss, rumble lull me to sleep.

CULTURE SHOCK
I survived another night in the big city, and this time I think I actually got some real sleep. I was up early with big plans for the day, mainly, working my way downtown to the local Walgreen pharmacy to generously add my contribution to the economy by forking over my monthly $120 for insulin. Wanting to avoid any fiasco of transferring my prescription and delaying my drugs, I opted to get the task over with. It actually went pretty smoothly, although the pharmacy technician was not nearly as friendly as the ones I dealt with in Salt Lake. It’s not that she was unpleasant, she was just indifferent. No smile, no “good morning,” nothing that led me to believe she didn’t hate her life. She just handed over my drugs and sent me on my way. I guess it’s just the way city people are.
I’m getting used to the one-way streets, along with the crossing signals, which seem to be more of a suggestion than a law here. I’ve noticed that if it’s a one way street and no traffic is coming, people just go ahead and cross the street. I’m okay with that, actually, it seems like a waste of a few seconds of my life to stand at a street with no cars coming waiting for the green hand on the other side to tell me it’s okay to go. I did accidentally cross a couple of times when there were cars coming, or the light had just changed, and I got the dirty look/honk/hand gestures from the impatient drivers. Except for one big, angry black lady, who I crossed paths with while I was crossing an alleyway. I heard her start her car as I entered the alley, and looked down briefly at what looked like a dime laying on the side of the alley. By the time I looked (which was literally 5 seconds) back up she had backed out of her spot and was heading straight for me, window down, already screaming out her window something to the effect of “don’t you see the f****ing car right in f****ing front of you comin’ down da f***ing alley?!” I was startled by her stereotypical big, angry black woman ranting, but was proud of my instant reaction. I looked her right in the eyes and threw my arms out as I shrugged my shoulders, and gave her a look that said “what the f***?” I believe I’m getting the hang of this city dweller thing.

THE CITY ON A BUDGET
After buying my drugs I was forced to prioritize my budget for the next two weeks. Food was obviously a top priority, so I hit the grocery store and stocked up on juice, tuna, oatmeal, noodles and potatoes, along with milk and bread. After all was said and done, my entertainment budget for the next two weeks was exactly $12.50. I had hoped to have enough money left over to pop into the grille next door and have a glass of wine to celebrate my move, and perhaps attend a play or matinee movie. But, alas, the responsibility of stocking my drugs for another month won out, so I hit happened across a small liquor store on the way home and found a mini bottle of White Zinfandel, which will have to suffice for now. Which is okay since it only adds to the “starving writer” dream that I’ve envisioned for so long…

April 5, 2011 - Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized