In the Book of Joshua, the Israelites destroy the walls of Jericho by walking around it with the Ark of the Covenant for seven days, once per day for the first six and seven for last, blowing the Shofar (rams’ horn) and shouting to make the walls fall down (Joshua 6:14-15). [Courtesy of Wikipedia].
Well, I wasn’t so lucky. Or maybe that Jericho was an easy mark. Jericho, Long Island ain’t no biblical anything.
I was cleaning out a storage room of deceased family friends (don’t ask), in central Long Island.
SIDEBAR: There is a reason why their remaining worldly possessions are house in mid-Long Island. That is for another blog (maybe not; too boring even for this blog).
Almost all of the valuables have been sold; I must go through the rest to make sure that there are no undiscovered valuables wrapped together with the bed frame.
[NYCFOB: I could not even ask your help until I gain control of the contents.]
Yes, I am insane to take such a curatorial tact with this stuff. But they were a very special and wonderful couple, deserving of love and care even with the disposal of the detritus of their lives.
BUT THEN I HAD TO GO TO JERICHO, LONG ISLAND. A decidedly, non-biblical place.
The nearest Good Will drop-off was along the Jericho Turnpike.
The Jericho Turnpike.
The Jericho Turnpike?
The Jericho Turnpike was a thing a folklore, where 1970s radio advertisements told you to go to get the best deal on 8-Track tapes and Betamaxes and shag carpets [yes, yes, we are THAT old]. It WAS the place for all things advertised on the summer Top 40s radio shows. Casey Kasem was the king of Pop and the Jericho Turnpike.
Still, still, while I am not “Legally Blonde,” I am the quintessential “Parochial Manhattanite“.
As a proud and parochial Manhattanite, I go through life without owning a car, without thinking before hailing a cab and without wondering that I am lucky that everything I want is within three blocks (or it must be delivered).
So, the CITY GIRL INVADES THE MID-ISLAND.
There couldn’t be a better horror story.
There should have been a travel advisory.
And, my rented minivan (which takes TWO parking spaces on a Manhattan street) didn’t have GPS.
AND, NO, GOOD WILL DOES NOT PICK UP EVEN IF YOU ARE UNLOADING APPLIANCES, FURNITURE, CLOTHES, ETC. IN BULK.
SO I GO TO HEMPSTEAD, ON THE JERICHO TURNPIKE (so why is it called Hempstead and not Jericho?)
And I have to look for the Sleepy’s across from something else and turn off into the mall to get to the Good Will place. [The people there seemed to be out of the good will stuff. Just sayin'.]
Did the customer service guy ever hear of map coordinates like, say, 56th Street between First and Second Avenues??? NAAAAHHHHHH.
And, so, I have to turn off at Sleepy’s.
As if I know where the Sleepy’s IS.
As if I have GPS.
As if I could tell the difference between the Sleepy’s and the OTHER bed store across the way.
Ok, I unload all of the stuff, valuable to someone but unsaleable in the conventional sense. Then, back to the storage room to get the rest of the items that can garner some money for the estate.
Except, I am stuck in Jericho. Prisoner of a Biblical tale. Without the Ark. Without a Shofar. Just a lot of traffic and malls.
Joshua, Joshua, Joshua!!! where are you? Didn’t the Israelites conquered Jericho?
Then I remembered that I believe that the Bible is a written collection of oral history and legend.
OOOPS. Bad time to be a Conservative-yet-Reconstructionist Jew
Ain’t Biblical justice a b*tch.