Yeah my ducks are in a row, but now they never quack that real shit
“I’m not sure where to even begin,” she said.
“Start with the next right step,” said the only other voice in the room.
“I don’t even know what that fucking means right now.”
“Well, what’s the next step then?”
“One of life’s great mysteries.”
“Say it, what’s the next step?”
“Okay, okay, okay. I get it.”
“Count all the packages you’ve yet to get addresses for and then mark those as first priority. Print those shipping labels out. Second priority should be figuring out which of the non-packed ones is going to take you the most time to wrap. Which items are the hardest to wrap?”
“I dunno, they’re all different sizes.”
“Okay, well. Once you figure that out, you’ve got your order of steps then. Wrap, pack, label.”
“I mean, I get that. That’s obvious. I’m just overwhelmed. I don’t even know if I want to do this shit.”
“Stop. Stop thinking like that.”
“I don’t know how to stop thinking the way I’m thinking.”
“You always overthink, don’t let this be one of those times.”
“No duh, that’s why I’m talking to you. So I have somewhere to put it all.”
“Okay?”
“I know what I have to do. I just don’t feel like doing it.”
“What do you wanna do then?”
She rolled her eyes and took a deep sigh. Strewn across the floor of one side of the room was a fat, cylindrical roll of bubble wrap. Shipping tape on top of it. Old newspapers were crumpled everywhere, next to a small mountain of stacked, empty cardboard boxes.
On the other side of the room was every variety of “old thing” possible. Vintage board games from the 1960s. A 3-pack of unopened Hot Wheels. Endless plastic, grey electronics. A large stack of JET magazine issues from multiple decades. A column of woven, decorative hats — the kind you might wear to church. A large collection of hyper-realistic ceramic animals from the entire animal kingdom. All of it, waiting to be packed. Next to the items was a tiny-but-tall stack of business cards with an “eBay” logo and the sentence: “Phasia’s Phinds — we knew what you were looking phor bephore YOU did!”
Phasia, cross-legged on the floor in the middle of this mess, picked one of the cards up and stared at it.
“I think I should update this.”
“To what?”
“I dunno, it’s so plain. We sell so many of the ceramic birds that I feel like maybe there should be a picture of one somewhere on here.”
“Maybe.”
“But then why would someone want a business card with a duck on it if they’ve already bought one?”, she thought aloud to herself. “And if they didn’t buy one, what would it matter what they see on the card? I don’t wanna become the bird store.” She threw up air quotes to emphasize this.
“What is this for?”
The other voice in the cluttered room belonged to Phasia’s father, Lionel. He had reached down and clawed up a colorful, portable label maker that was tucked behind the boxes.
“I feel like you know the answer to that question,” she said, looking him dead in the eye. “But I was just experimenting. Thought it could be cool to add a personal note to everyone who purchased something.”
“You don’t even know these people.”
“Well, yeah. That’s not really the point. I wanted them to know that there’s actually someone on the other side of all this stuff…” she said as she took note of the room. “God, there’s so much stuff.”
“Like I said, wrap, pack, label. But not those labels, that’s just going to be a waste of time. Wrap, pack, shipping label. Those are the steps. If there’s so much stuff then that’s the way to get through it all.”
“Sure thing.”
“See? Look, look.”
Lionel held up a newly bubble-wrapped gold-rimmed cup that he did himself very hastily.
“Good job, Dad.”
“No, I’m saying it was that easy. That’s all you have to do.”
“No, no, it was a good job. Thats why I have you here. Excellent wrap job.”
“Alright.”
“You can be the first step guy. Wrap, pack, label, right? That’s the order? You can be the Wrapper Guy.”
“Oh, now you wanna get it done?”
“I do now. Now I have you to thank for the way you so beautifully wrapped this — what is this? This cup.”
“Listen, you said you wanted help, so that’s why I’m here.”
“Yeah, you’re Mr. Wrap. That’s why you’re here. Keep wrapping, and I’ll go over here and do all the packing and addresses and then it’ll be great. We’ll have it done in no time.”
Lionel reached across and handed her the wrapped cup.
“Here, pack it then. There’s a box right there.”
“Excuse me, Wrapper Guy. Don’t worry about my job. Move on to your next wrap job. Look, there’s the bubble wrap over there.”
“No, excuse you. Don’t worry about what I’m doing. Just pack it. The tape is right there.”
“Oh damn, okay. Going up the assembly line. That’s new.”
She took the cup and put it in a box. They packed for a few minutes in silence, repeating this process — bubble wrap by him and then box taping by her — getting through all the cups that had been ordered.
“Here,” Lionel said, handing over the last bubble-wrapped cup, then sitting back in a chair and crossing his arms.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have the shipping labels?”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Well, I’m done with wrapping these cups so I think you should either make a decision on getting those addresses or more packing.”
“I don’t know yet. There’s more you can wrap.”
“Well, we don’t have any more room in here so if you could just find the addresses we can finalize the cups and put them in the car.”
“There’s an empty shelf right there. Just put it there and we’ll figure it out.”
“Figure it out, figure it out. Phasia we’re not about to do this again. Last time we had to repack everything because we messed up the addresses. It’s the holiday season so now it’s twice as much stuff. That’s twice the chance to mess it up again. Get the addresses, please.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.”
“That’s kinda what you’re saying.”
“Give it a rest.”
“No, you.”
“Me, what?”
“Nevermind. You want addresses? Here, let me look it up.”
Phasia pulled the laptop closer to her and started clicking hurriedly though different windows.
“Phasia, what is this?”
Lionel had picked up one of the boxes and was turning it all around on each side, looking for something.
“What is what?”
“How are we supposed to know what box is what? You didn’t mark any of them. Wow.”
The printer nearby made a loud, whirring start up sound. Phasia had begun to print out the address labels. Sheets of paper flowed out, as Lionel continued his thought.
“This is why I told you to do the addresses. God damn. Why do you think I was telling you that? Now we’re going to have to open them back up and unwrap them all the way just to see which box is which.”
Phasia walked over to the printer. She pulled out the stack of paper. It was thicker than a normal 8.5 x 11 stack because of the double-layer material used for adhesive shipping labels. She pulled off the topmost label, walked over and stuck it to the outside of the box her father was holding.
“All the cups are going to the same woman. She does this every year.”
Lionel put the shipment-ready box down and crossed his arms again. Phasia began quietly labeling the rest of the boxes.
“Well, then answer this. How many time can you actually expect that to happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“So that doesn’t change what I’m saying.”
“Mmmmm.”
“So then, what’s next?”
They both surveyed the large collection of knick knacks, ranging in packing difficulty. Phasia clicked through her laptop.
“Ummmm, lemme see. This group of wall clocks here are all going to — wait, no. They’re all over the place. But here—”
Two clicks from Phasia, and the loud whirring of the printer filled the room again. Lionel grabbed one of the clocks and began bubble wrapping. Once he was finished, he handed it to Phasia who placed it, along with a business card, inside a box. She then labeled it with the address and put it on top of all the other ready-to-ship items.
They repeated this, and before long the room—once filled to the brim with heres, theres and everywheres — was filled with neatly stacked boxes of different sizes, all labeled with their destinations.