Tags: lifestyle, humor
Photo © sxc.hu/trohaa
I recently remembered an incident that happened about a year ago. Oh, all right, maybe it was more like seven years, three months and fifteen minutes ago, but who’s keeping track? It’s still fresh in my mind, so that’s what counts.
On a whim, I'd decided to rearrange my computer desk. Yes, it must have been a whim and had nothing to do with the fact that dust deeper than the sand dunes of the Sahara had accumulated on my home office furniture.
“There’s too much clutter and so I’m going to move the computer speakers,” I said to Bearly, our hundred-pound dog. He looked at me and his brown eyes winked with wisdom, as if confirming my good idea. Or maybe it was from the dust floating in the air as I moved stuff—I wasn’t sure which, but I opted for wisdom.
I leaned awkwardly across the desk to loosen the speaker wires, while continuing my conversation with the dog. “Why can’t they make everything more accessible on computers? Why can’t they put the plug ends to the front of the speakers? Why can’t they—Oops!”
The plugs dropped behind the desk and onto the floor. Drat, a big problem already, because when the plugs are on the floor it requires one skinny person to slide under the desk and hand the wires up to one contortionist, who is bending over and slithering his hand behind the desk and down the wall.
Hmmmmm. I could see Trouble rearing its ugly head. There was only one person in the house and she didn’t qualify as skinny. No, I like to consider myself nicely curvaceous, or perhaps stunning-with-short-legs.
I thought about asking Bearly to go under and fetch the wires, but he hardly qualified as skinny, either. The last time he’d tried to get under the desk, the result had been similar to an earthquake combined with a wrecking ball.
I knelt on all fours and had just wriggled underneath when a brilliant thought hit me. String! I could crawl back out, tie a long piece of string to the keyboard, crawl under the desk, loop it (the string, not the desk) around the speaker wires, then crawl back out (again!) and haul them up. What a spectacularly brilliant idea!
From my less-than-comfortable spot under the desk, I glanced around the room hoping for a piece of string nearby. Rubber bands hung from a doorknob, and something sat under the couch.
"Oh, look, Bearly. There's a dried piece of spaghetti under there." He looked at me like I was a few noodles short of a lasagna, and said nothing. I gave a sigh—despite the interesting artifacts in the room, not a piece of twine was in sight. I lay looking at the dusty sand dunes so clearly observable from my vantage point, and pondered the questions of life. Where did I come from? Where am I going? Why isn’t there a long piece of tangled-together dog hair around when it’s needed?
With a groan from the effort, I wiggled my curvaceous body back out and went into the kitchen, found the twine, cut a long piece, went back and tied it to the keyboard, letting it fall behind the desk. Then, I crawled back under.
When I looked up, there was the string ... hanging a foot shorter than my reach. As I lay there, I pondered the questions of life. Who am I? Where did I come from? Why didn’t I remember to measure twice and cut once?
I twisted, trying to reach it and the muscle in my neck cramped. “Aaacckkk! Help, help, cramp!” I shouted, knowing full well no one was there to help me. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about Bearly. Hearing my cries, he ran to the desk and in what seemed to be an effort to rescue me—but might have actually been the perfect opportunity to check my pockets for dog treats—he crammed himself underneath.
Now I had my curvaceous body, mounds of dust, speaker wires, a dangling string and a hundred-pound behemoth practically sitting on my face, all under the desk. I never knew a piece of furniture could totter like that and still stay standing.
Good things come to those with persistence, and if at first you don't succeed, try, try again ... or so my mother tells me. I don’t actually know that for a fact, though, because my mantra goes something like, “If at first you don't succeed, things will only get worse.” While I was down there, I decided to dust the wires. I jiggled one little plug, heard a zzzzttttt and saw sparks. The 120 volt zap up my arm gave me a small clue it was time to quit.
Eventually I managed to plug in the speakers and the machine was up and running again … except for an error message on the computer that said, “Can not find an Internet connection.” Which all just goes to show that good things might come to those who persist, but bad things come to those who dust.
------"If at First You Don't Succeed" © C.L. (Cindy) Beck------
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