Tuesday, August 16, 2005

A Madison story

There is this pack of former Badger Cab drivers that I have gotten to know. A diverse and good bunch of people, always willing to lend a hand in perplexing situations. So it is fitting that I should ask one of them to help me install pantry shelves at the loft today.

I bought these dang blasted wire wracks at Home Dept after much contemplation and consideration of various other alternatives. Average shelves – white, laminated – you know the type: like you see in ads for California Closets.

I called Kevin, one of the former cabbies and he came over to the loft this afternoon.

No good, he tells me. Flimsy. And the wall is hollow. What do you expect to put on them anyway?
Well, foods and stuff. Pantry things. Vanilla, chocolate, Arborio rice.

Flimsy. Take them back.

This from a man who owns a junk shop on Willie Street and seems to hoard everything (rather than himself returning things at Home Depot).

Okay, fine. Where did I go wrong and what do I do now?

Go to the restaurant supply store off of Atwood
(we’re talkin’ deep east side Madison here) and buy Metro line restaurant units. (He would say that, being himself a former restaurant cook.)

We went together and I was mesmerized by the place. I cannot believe I have never shopped here before! Oh, I cannot believe I have never entered these hallowed halls and lovingly caressed the likes of these:

Madison Aug 05 224

The Metro shelving units were perfect. We lugged them back to the loft and he set to work showing me how they fit together.

A Madisonian, he was. New Age this and that, with politics to match the neighborhood he inhabits. As he packs up to go, I tell him that I cannot give him a ride back – I am already late in cooking dinner for the family back at the (suburban, unsold, okay, lay it on - headache of a) home.

No, no problem, he tells me. I like to walk. Besides, I have to stop at the Soap Opera.
Why there?
It’s the only place in town that sells the Sandalwood soap I like. The one from France. I need to inhale its aroma to stay sound.

p.s. He loved the loft. The loft has bred no malcontents thus far. Yay loft.

Just wondering…

Hey, did I see you on Mineral Point on the bike yesterday, early in the evening?

Was there a rolled-up carpet precariously balanced on the back seat?

What the hell was that? A scrap of the Real Thing maybe?

What were you planning to do with it – put it by the door of your new loft?

…So that people with muddy shoes would know to take off their footwear as they enter and not soil the pristine white(-ish) carpet inside?

And you think this will do the trick?