The Story of My New Bed

So I have been in San Francisco exactly one week today. Already I feel quite at home. One big thing that I have been lacking however is a bed...

My lovely roommate C. had surprised me when I arrived at the house last week with an air mattress already blown up, laying in the middle of my bedroom floor, adorned with clean ivory sheets. I have to admit that it was quite a nice welcome. After the 6 hour flight, lugging my two 50 lb. suitcases around, I was ready to collapse on it.

Although her mattress generosity was appreciated with my wide open arms, I put it as number one (well, maybe number two...three, whatever) on my list of "things to do" this weekend: buy a proper bed for myself. After all, it seems like a very mature and grown up thing to do. I have to admit (confessions!) that I slept on an air mattress for over a year in NYC until my parents came to visit. They were horrified and dismayed at my living conditions as a 23 year old and insisted on purchasing a bed for me. This time around, I was resolved to get a bed BEFORE my parents came to visit. Today, the fates smiled on me.

So, here we go...

I spent about 3 hours walking around Union Square this morning, searching for warmer clothes (that was the actual number one on my list) and I decided to get some "exercise" by walking home 2 miles up and down a very large hill, hauling with me a Burlington Coat Factory shopping bag filled with warmer purchases.

I get to my street and I turn right to walk down to my house and I notice there is a homeless man, about 60 years old, muttering to himself and kicking a pink mattress that is laid out against the side of my neighbor's house. The mattress was wrapped in clear plastic and there was a sign on it that said "New" which was crossed out, and then underneath "Free." The old homeless man looks me straight in the eye, points to the mattress and says "It's free if you want it" and then walks off. (Note: The mattress was left out by the neighbor, not the homeless man.)

"Huh?" I think to myself.

I look a little more closely at the mattress, expecting to see dark reddish brown stains, mice droppings, bugs... or possibly worse. But it looks like it is in perfectly great condition.

"Huh!" I think to myself again. I grab the edge of the mattress and I try to lift it. It slips out of my hands immediately and I realize that it is actually incredibly heavy. I pathetically try sliding it up the sidewalk instead, my house being only about 20 feet away. I get closer and closer, inch by inch, and then it dawns on me that once I actually get it to my house, I will need to get it up to the third floor somehow.

"Huh" again (this time with a air of discouragement). I lean the mattress against my neighbor's house and remember that no one is home and that both of my roommates are out of town.

And right then this guy walks up and says "Want help?"

I look at him and I freeze.

"Yes I want help!", is what I really want to say but then the part of my brain that tries to make good, safe, rational decisions kicks in. I check out this guy, this stranger... late twenties, all black clothing, fedora hat, chain hanging out of his pocket, reeking of marijuana... and I conclude that he seems like a bit of a risk.

But, you know what, I really want this bed. And from what Scott McKenzie tells me, San Francisco is full of "gentle" people. I say a little prayer and I go for it...

"Sure!" I said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm to cover my doubt.

He goes to the front of the mattress, picks it up, turns his head toward me and says, "You get the back." A little shocked by his proactiveness, I fall right into line, picking up the tail end behind him.

When we get to my house, I point to it and nervously say, "This is me... umm, are you up for a couple flight of stairs?" He looks at me, smiles and says, "Yep. Let's do it."

So he and I carry this big pink mattress up about two flights of stairs and around the 180 degree curve in the stairwell, him having to almost literally bend the mattress in half to fit it around. We get it to the top, he leans it against the side of the hallway, shakes my hand and says, "I'm Jared, nice to meet you." Completely out of breath at this point, I take his hand and say "Thankssss, (gasp on the inhale) I... am Rachael." He says "Glad I could help, hope to see you around the neighborhood again" and marches right out the door with a smile and a wave before I can even catch my breath again.

"Huh." I think to myself, chest heaving, staring at the pink mattress that is now safely on the third floor of my house. I smile and almost laugh out loud to myself, except that I am still gasping for air.

Thanks for the bed, San Francisco.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SB2tYYYlwMc

Day 1 and the Number 1 Bus, A Slideshow

(Lights out, start projector)...



6:45am

Blueberry Cliff Bar

Philippians

Number 1 Bus

Venti Starbucks

Mac Laptop

Empty Chair Tour

"Blow Heater"

Salt & Pepper Pop Chips

Handshakes

Misspelled Name

Broken Internet

Employee Handbook

Internet Fixed!

Facebook

Training

PB&J

Staff Meeting

Laughing

A Couple Emails

Stale Coffee With Cream

Neuropathways

Yogurt Run

More Laughing

Yammer

Ghandi

Goodbyes

Number 1 Bus

Chat With Dad

Trader Joe's

Sore Feet

Roommate Gelato Run

Big Screen Bachelorette

10:00pm

...(Hit the lights)


It was a good/bittersweet/caffeinated first day. Missing my sunshine friends yet looking forward to more days like this to come.

Packing and Goodbyes

12 days until I board my plane to fly to San Francisco.

Right now I am going through the process of packing and saying goodbyes to all of my Orlando friends. Mom bought me a HUGE blue suitcase from Ross for my trip. We measured it to make sure it fits the airline's proper luggage dimensions so that I don't have to pay the oversize fees.

I get home with my new big suitcase and then it hits me, I have to fit my whole life into two 50 lb. bags and one carry on...

I have already filled two garbage bags full of clothes from my closet for goodwill and I have not even got to my dresser yet. This is the second or third time in my life that I have had to purge all of my belongings to start over. Each time I get less and less attached to my material things which is probably a good thing.

But as I go through my closet, memories start flooding my mind...

I pick up the yellow dress from my last Easter brunch in NYC at my favorite Hell's Kitchen French eatery, then the floral orange sundress from the mission trip to Rwanda when we visited the genocide memorial, and finally the satin purple cocktail dress from the Bahamian cruise with classmates when we ate escargot and discoed the night away on a swaying dance floor.

These are not clothes, they are memories. They are memoirs, they are mementos of my life, physical representations of what happened and of where I have been. Photographs. Snapshots. Pieces of my past.

And I am tossing them ALL away so that I can fit myself, my life, into two 50 lb. bags and one carry on.

Call me sentimental but this is a lot harder than I expected.

12 more days.

It seems impossible to say all of my goodbyes in only 12 more days.