Housekeeping Note :How Final?
For a moment, I thought I’d thrown away my housekeys. Down the garbage chute, that is. I knew that I’d tossed my copy of the Zoë Heller novel that I am reading with the greatest avidity. In an abstracted moment, I was confused by a tumble of packing peanuts on my way out the door.
I suspected, too, that I’d thrown away today’s mail. The book could be replaced easily enough, and the keys turned out to be hanging in the lock. But I thought I’d better not just let the mail go without making an attempt to retrieve it. I had no idea whether this would be possible. There used to be a compactor — surely nothing could be withdrawn from that.
Down in the basement, whither I was directed by Dominic, the doorman, I found my refuse, lying in a hopper in plain view but out of reach. Pieces of the mail were there anyway. I asked one of the older porters, who happened to be standing around and who happens not to be Anglophone, for help. He enlisted a younger porter whom I see all the time. The younger porter wanted me to be helped, but not by himself. He directed a storm of Spanish at his colleague, who resisted with equal determination.
Eventually, though, the garbage was gone through. A few times, we had to stand back, as if an express were barreling through. We’d hear the rattling in the chute, and then the garbage, some of it not in bags, would come flying into the hopper. At one point, I covered my eyes, because bits of glass seemed to be flying everywhere.
When I felt that I’d recouped everything that hadn’t been rendered soggy by stray egg yolk, I tipped the men very generously and went straight to Barnes & Noble — for another copy of The Believers.