Jenifer’s Shelter Island  Journal: Goodbye, Mr. McPod

Yesterday I said goodbye to the mobile storage unit I rented back at the end of July. Such a modest fellow — 8’W, 16’L, 7’H — and clad in bright white, like an EMT — and so sturdy, so non-judgmental, so accepting!

He accommodated everything I brought to him without comment, all of my possessions that had survived the mad purge of the main house in preparation for its being rented, and which hadn’t been otherwise consigned to the “Goody Pile” (or worse).

I think it’s safe to say that, my extraordinary team of construction professionals notwithstanding, without Mr. McPod, the fabrication of this beautiful addition, which I now occupy, would not have been possible.

I named him immediately upon his arrival (he had a Celtic vibe) and characteristically, he didn’t object. I can’t tell you how relieved I was that he was here, always at the ready, especially when the new stuff began arriving like a table and a couch, and a bed and two toilets and a bathroom vanity and, well, you know, on and on, all the replacements for things I’d left behind (45 feet away) in the “Mother Ship.”

And then, in November, when we got the nod, we began moving in and, like a metal cornucopia, Mr. McP. dispensed all the lovely new stuff that he’d kept safe and dry for months.

At this point, if you’re feeling a little squeamish by what appears to be my overweening penchant for forming relationships with inanimate objects, like cars, refrigerators, coffee-makers, pens, and, in this case, storage units, let me say here, it gets worse (though someday  I may share my theory on passive consciousness).

Indeed, as we brought into the addition everything we’d ordered, it looked perfect!  And what a pleasure to retrieve the boxes of my clothing from “Paddy’s” care and put them all away on the shelves and cubbies of my brand-spanking new walk-in closet.  Beyond my wildest dreams … and yet….

There were still several boxes and pieces of furniture in McPod. He seemed gently reproachful as he displayed them to me. Stuff I thought I wanted to keep six months ago, but now, did I really have room for those random art supplies? Those pairs of dressy shoes I can’t remember wearing in the past three years? That little dressing table with the missing knobs? All that stuff stubbornly sitting there, waiting. For the next month, if I had reason to go in, I would shortly leave, clanging shut McPod’s metal door behind me.

The thing was, I was tired of making decisions, dealing with contingencies, which is to say, taking responsibility for what was mine. The pretty stuff, the perfect stuff, no problem, but those inconvenient loose ends — feh! I tend that way—back in the day I often opted for half-measure, for fence-sitting, situation-straddling. Any opportunity for procrastination, I took advantage of it. I’m better now — I should hope so, given that my “room for improvement” is rapidly shrinking — but, ironically, Mr. McPod’s continued presence was making procrastination possible in this case.

If my tight budget could’ve stood the bleeding out of 200 bucks a month for the continued pleasure of his company, I’d have probably been tempted to pay it. Just think of all the unwieldy loose ends I could’ve stashed away. But such was not the case, however.

All by myself, like a grown-up, I called McPod’s home base on 12/27 to arrange for his departure on the 30th, before they could bill me for January. Three short days would call for some pretty fast action (as we’ve discussed, not my specialty) in order to finish clearing out my dear friend. However, when the man then told me that his main driver was on vacation and they’d pick it up on 1/04 instead, I could hear the high-pitched siren song of procrastination screeching at me: four extra days! It must’ve been the sane, steady influence of dear Paddy that helped me ignore it and get down to serious, humpy, decision-making business.

I wonder how many opportunities for growth, for new experiences in my life, I’ve managed to short circuit for myself because of avoidance and procrastination. As I say, I’m just wondering. I don’t really want to know. But if I make an actual resolution it will be that: if it needs doing, just DO it.

Some people celebrated the New Year on the first. For me, it was the fourth, when his handler hooked-up dear Mr. McPod (quite a production, I must say), and drove him away. Like the kid in Shane, I ran out to call him back, but he kept on going. He’d come to do a job, he’d done it well, and now we both knew I didn’t need him anymore.

Goodbye, Mr. McPod. Helllloooo, 2025!