Life Without Drapes
Some things we take for granted.
Like freedom.
Or good health.
Or drapes.
It’s only when one of these is taken away that we realize how vitally important it actually is.
* * * *
One entire wall of our den is glass, covered by curtains.
The lovely Mrs. Borengasser and I decide the drapes are looking a little dingy, so we take them to the cleaners. I figure it shouldn’t take long. After all, you take a pair of pants to the cleaners, and they’re cleaned and pressed by the next day. What are drapes but a couple pairs of big, baggy pants?
However, I forget one significant fact. The reason you get a pair of pants back the next day is because you don’t need them the next day. If it were absolutely essential that you have those pants the next day, they wouldn’t be ready for three weeks.
This is a Universal Law, much like gravity and the jungle. Specifically, the law states, “Any service work will be performed at a speed inversely proportional to the need.”
In other words, if you call a plumber and tell him you collect brass floor flanges, and then ask him if he’ll drop one off the next time he’s in the neighborhood, he’ll show up in ten minutes. But if your heater explodes in the middle of winter, plan on seeing him in May.
And, so, five weeks after taking the draperies to the cleaners, they’re still not ready. To put this in perspective, for five weeks, we have no curtains over the glass wall in the one room in which we spend most of our time.
Anyone can look in on us, day or night. Add binoculars into the mix, and we’re on display from blocks away. Animals creep up and stare at us for hours. We have become a zoo exhibit.
It’s said the night has a thousand eyes. Well, nine hundred of them are focused on our house.
Usually, at home, I like to dress comfortably. Picture a street person in slippers. But not any longer.Now, whenever I’m in the den, I wear a sport coat with a boutonniere. You never know who may be watching, or worse, videotaping.
Once again, I call the cleaners
“Can you tell me when the drapes will be ready,” I ask. “If it’s going to be another week or two, I’m planning to put some bleachers in the yard, so every Peeping Tom, Dick, and Harry won’t have to stay on his feet all night. Call us old fashioned, but we like our neighborhood voyeurs to be comfortable.”
“The retractable ammonia barger slide broke,” the person explains. “We’ve replaced it with a new one. Your drapes will be ready tomorrow.”
I’m so relieved, I sink into the recliner and immediately doze off.
I dream I’m in a house in Chicago in the 1920’s.
Suddenly, a man with a Tommy gun bursts in.
He glares at me and snarls, “It’s curtains for you, pal!”
The last thing I say before I’m gunned down is, “It’s about time.”