We still need pots, pans, forks, spoons, knives, drinking cups, matches, clothes line, clothes pins, detergent, scrub brush, tooth brushes, hair brush, hair dryer, Band-Aids ( Alicia), bug spray, table cloth, shaver, deodorant, flashlight, sleeping cots, air mattresses, air pump, and a U-Haul truck.
Wait a minute, I forgot about the kids again, Baseball bat, mitts, balls, footballs, whiffle balls, soccer balls, badminton, fishing poles, roller blades, Playstation 2 (Playstation 3 wasn’t out yet), 13” portable TV, baseball cards, football cards, credit cards ( those are for us ), skate board, bicycles and a bigger U-Hall truck.
It’s time to pack the station wagon. I have a couple of theories about this. You can just throw everything in randomly and hope it fits or you can use some sort of logic and place each individual item in a predetermined spot. Men always chose the easiest way first or the one that takes the least amount of thought. So I start throwing everything in randomly like every good husband does and after swearing and sweating for a hour, take everything back out and start all over. I guess this is no different than loading a grocery bag, not that I ever done that. But they always start with the biggest and heaviest items first. Then they build upon that base with all the light stuff and finally the eggs on top. So I start with the biggest and heaviest boxes first.
It’s just like the game Tetris. You must form the boxes into the shape of the trunk. And as you add more boxes, the shape of the trunk changes, which makes you constantly change the way you add more boxes. The only problem with Station Wagon Tetris is it’s in three dimensions. That’s one more dimension than I’m used to playing with. There’s also one more problem I didn’t anticipate. My wonderful, caring wife (brownie points) has no knowledge of the Space Time Continuum. That is, how many items can fit in a non-expanding space and how much time it will take me to lose it and go completely ballistic. It seems the older I get the time continuum gets shorter and shorter.
So I start all over again with the biggest and heaviest boxes first, carefully placing them in what I think is the perfect position, turning and tilting them to fit together as tight as possible to conserve space. Then I would take a smaller box like my tool box and find that one nook and cranny and slide it in there. At this point, it’s not so important where they go in the car, just as long as they are in there, or so I thought. As I seem to be running out of room, I notice my wonderful wife (burnt brownie points) bringing more and more shiiiii---- stuff for me to pack. Thank goodness for blood pressure medicine. “Where’s the cooler,” she says in her somewhat sarcastic voice? “Can’t you see it dear (black, charred, right from hell brownie points), underneath all those boxes?” “How are we going to get to it in case the kids need a drink during the ride,” she asked? “Maybe I should pack the car,” she adds. Why didn’t she say that an hour ago? I would have gladly let her pack the car.
Unfortunately she’s right, I forgot the kid factor. Kids have certain needs, and their needs usually interfere with my needs. My need is to get this done as soon as possible. Their need is to have access to all edible items otherwise all hell breaks loose. So I move the cooler to the back of the tailgate for easy access.
I fill in the remaining gaps with all the soft items like sleeping bags, blankets, tent tarps, air mattresses, baseball gloves. At this point the wagon is pretty much packed to capacity. I can barely close the hatch without shattering the rear window. The only problem is I have no room for the tent, tent poles, bikes, folding chairs, kid’s bikes and sleeping cots. Maybe I should reconsider renting the U-Haul truck? Maybe I should reconsider not going at all. That option sounds good to me, only in my dreams of course.
It just dawned on me; I probably won’t be able to pick up chicks with this thing on top of my car. What am I thinking; I won’t be able to pick up chicks driving a station wagon anyway. I’m kidding myself; I’m married, I won’t be able to pick up anything except garbage cans; back to reality.
I threw it on top of the car and connected the tie down straps to the rain gutters. If you’re under the age of 20 you probably don’t know what rain gutters are? I’m not talking about the ones on a house. They used to have rain gutters on most of the cars made before the 90’s. They keep the rain from pouring into the car if you leave the window open a crack. It’s a good thing my car is a 1980 otherwise I would have no way of connecting the carrier to my car. So I tighten the carrier straps as tight as I can, take a step back I notice how ugly it looks sitting on top of the wagon. Man, that’s ugly, but the station wagon is plenty ugly by itself. What’s a little uglier going to do? It’s not like I’m single anymore. Do I really care about what kind of car I drive? This is what marriage and kids do to you. It makes you content, and content is a bad thing.
I start throwing the bikes up there, the four folding chairs, the tent, tent poles, a couple more sleeping bags and the eating canopy. This stuff is starting to pile up pretty high I’m thinking to myself. I’m starting to worry about the wind shear factor. We will be going at least 65 Mph. I better make sure I tie enough rope around this stuff to hold it down. Being a former Cub Scout Assistant Leader, you would think I would know how to tie knots. Unfortunately my boys quit before we ever got to the knot tying badge. I could have used that badge knowledge right about now. So to make up for it, I used twice as much rope as was necessary and took twice as much time to make sure it was secured. It looked like the biggest yarn ball in the world up there; but better safe than sorry. I was actually physically tired just tying these ropes. I’m ready to take a nap.
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