Scoot Commute

How NOT to transport a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree on a Genuine Buddy scooter

Posted in Buddy St. Tropez (Franz Biberkopf), Daily Commute by sbahn on 2011/12/01

On the floorboards. At least, not a good idea when it’s windy.

I had an early meeting on campus this morning so I was a bit bleary when I headed out the door. I’ve been meaning to bring my Charlie Brown Christmas Tree in to adorn my office as everyone else on the floor has the same tree (and when I pointed out to Eve, one of the graduate students, she felt it was a sad reflection on our working conditions).

Instead of lashing it to the milkcrate on the back of the Buddy, I slung it across the floorboards as the box is very long and skinny and wasn’t going to fit very well into the crate. I headed out with little problems, until I took the turn off of Elmwood Avenue when the box moved. I found myself riding one handed, looking down, and trying to stabilize the box, all the while twisting the throttle more and more open as there was no traffic in front of me.

Another turn and another gust of wind shifted the box onto an edge, where I wedged it in with my boots.

Red light. Re-group.

I’m now on a one-way street and a big gust of wind blows the box off the floorboards and into the middle of the street. Da-ham! I turn the scoot around and head into traffic to retrieve my Christmas tree. I stop, throw it up on the center stand, and run into the street to grab the box.

Back at the scoot, I sling it across the floorboard and swing in front of a huge, red dump truck, you know the kind, that carry asphalt for paving projects.

Stop sign, roll through, and another huge gust blows the box off. “Ugh, that’s it!” I think to myself. I park the scoot and actually close my eyes as the asphalt dump truck narrowly avoids the box on this narrow street with cars parked along the curb. I snatch the box up out of the street and run back to the scoot. I pull off my gloves and lash the box to the crate with my one and only bungee.

Now I’m paranoid. I can no longer see the box. Every bump I hit, I reach back to feel if the box is still there. What a way to ride the remaining two miles, one handed and panicking that the red Christmas ball has been smashed into pieces.

Eventually I make it to school and un-bungee the tree. I hear pieces moving about but I don’t hear glass. I plop the box onto a table in my office as I strip off my riding gear to get to a meeting.

The tree will have to wait until later in the day.

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