A Love Affair with LPs

A few weeks ago, one of my closest pals and I were out with another best pal of ours from back East. In between drinks, great food and many, many laughs I inquired about a record label that he worked with. This is a label that I've loved for many years and presses some of the best vinyl around for many of the greatest rock and soul artists ever to make music. This conversation led to his graceful offer to send a shipment. A few days later I picked out my list and sent it along.

While driving down Highway 5 on my way to LA two days ago, a text arrived from my local pal, "Did you get your package?!?!?!?" She had. I nearly hit the brakes. I was on my way to game 4 of the ALCS between my beloved Yankees and the California/LA/Anaheim/Modesto Angels. Two loves crashing into each other at once. But no matter my excitement over this critical playoff game, nothing could touch my infatuation with music and vinyl. I couldn't shake the visual of that massive box of treasures. I called my landlord and asked him to check for the box. A few hours later he replied, "Nothing." I was distracted. The Yanks went on to pummel the Angels and I headed back to the road for a long nighttime trip back North. I finally found sleep around 4am.

At 8am, I literally jumped out of bed. Since my buzzer is a clunker, I had no choice but to wait outside for the UPS guy. Five hours passed, no brown uniform. Earler, at around 330am, I'd already requested that UPS hold the package for pickup, but who knows, maybe it still sat on the truck. I proceeded to tape a long set of instructions on our front door. I gave the guy like 15 options: call me, knock on my door, text me, meet me at the coffee shop, sleep over, hit a bed and breadfast? It was like Favreau's repeat phone calls in Swingers. None of these options came to fruition.

At 6pm I drove down to the UPS center. After handing the kind lady my slip, I watched her at the computer. She was taking longer than she did with other customers. "Oh please step back into that massive room of boxes," I thought. She picked up the phone. After a few minute chat, she turned back towards me. "Dammit!" My boxes were still on the truck. "You can come back right before 9pm if you'd like. The driver should drop it off by then," she advised. "See you then," I shot back. I then picked up my partner in vinyl and we shared in the thrill of what was about to come. See, her package from the previous day was a mix of hers and mine so she was just as excited to get round two. We went and had a few beers. I kept checking my watch. At around 8pm we headed for some Mexican. I think I asked for the check before our food even arrived. I needed to get to UPS. I couldn't wait another day.

It was 850pm when I handed the lady my ticket again. Off to the computer again. Checking. Checking. I watched her feet: Would she head into that vault or once again disappoint. No movement. And then she turned to the right, disappearing into cardboard goods for folks throughout the city. But no one could be as excited as I was at that moment. It had arrived. It's Christmas in October. Thanks, E. Thanks a million.


Amanda said...