Waiting for something

They tore down the parking lot. To put up a parking lot.
My niece sent me wine from California the other day. It was suppose to arrive on Wednesday morning. On Tuesday, big yellow tractors and haulers tore up the parking lot. To put up a parking lot. New version of an old song.

It's hard to find me in my building without machinery and yellow tape. I decided to get up early and sit on the other side of my building in a little patio area. I have my own patio, but I live in no man's land back there. UPS, FED-EX, pizza delivery people...all wander around looking for 115 or 116. Sometimes people are just wandering. You have to redirect them. No entry. No this isn't a govenment building. No, I'm not in the mood for idle conversation about your gall bladder.

I barely got settled on the other side of the patio when I noticed six or eight stalks of dead plants in a planter box in the area. I'm no gardener. I like flowers. I plant flowers. I tend to flowers. Do I know what I'm doing, pick one of two, not really, in theory.

I am ripping out the dead stalks when I see the Fed-Ex man pull up. It's quarter to eight. Could I be so lucky as to have my package in record time? Of course not. Is that for me? I ask. Are you 111? Shucks, no. 115. He smiles and departs into the interior of the building and up the stairs with a large package. But if I can't find Amanda home, would you sign for it? Sure.

It's a minute later when I realize all the 11 something apartments are on the ground floor. Four of them. Mr. Fed-Ex comes back down. That way I point down the street to the end of the building. I just figured that out, he said. A little while later he comes back. No Amanda. I sign my name. He lifts the box over the patio railing. It's heavy, he says, and leaves before I have a chance to change my mind.

I sit there with Amanda's large package until nine. Problem. Do I take the package to my apartment...not an easy feat...through a locked door, down the elevator, through the basement, up a fight of stairs, out the door, navigate the small path between shrubs and trees...because they have torn up the parking lot. I do, but I curse the cute but blasted Fed-Ex man the entire way.

Back to my station. I meet interesting people while sitting at my post waiting for wine. I see interesting stuff. The new Ace Hardware Corporate Offices across the street hosts many older, retiree-looking genteelmen who work there. And one young woman with her hands full and a fumbling key.

Someone on a balcony walks out, smokes a cigarette, and flicks it toward me. Nice try.

A nice forties something man with a pickup is loading up his clothes into it. He talks to me. Street chit chat. Nice day. Nice weather. Wine?? Do you ever go to Trader Joe's? Sure, all the time. Me, too.

A thirties something man with a pickup is loading up his clothes. He does not talk to me.

A woman who turns out to be the choral director in town comes by with a nice car and stuff. She gets out with stuff and loads up a cart. She goes inside and up the elevator with her stuff. And comes back with other stuff. Eventually we talk. She is a character, lively, full of talk. Her daughter has moved here. She's up on the second floor. I am always happy to see thirty something and older moving into our building. I shudder when the young men get out of their souped up Blazers with large stereo systems and barbells. Next time, I will call the cops is my mantra to them.

Emily comes by with flowers in her hand for a friend. Jessica comes down with her white fluffy dog for a walk. No UPS driver ever comes by. I've figured out through an internet search that this is how my wine is comiing. I ask the woman in the salon if she'd watch for him. She says sure. I go back to my apartment and hang out with Jessica's very large box from a Pet Store. I surmise it's pet food. It was heavy enough. But there is a color guide and it is marked beige.

The UPS driver shows up at eleven with the wine. You found me, I say jubilantly. I was at 111 just the other day, he said. Really, well here's another box for her, I say but not out loud.

Thanks for the wine, I say. He smiles and disappears towards the disabled parking lot that is now void of workers and machinery.