Here’s the latest update in the ongoing saga of our Wreck this Journal game. (#WTJ)
Last Thursday afternoon: mailed book to self. Deep breaths.
Friday noon: BOOK IN MAILBOX! Stamps not cancelled, no postmark, in fact not a single new mark on it! Must have been hand carried with kid glove treatment.
I toss it on my desk. I leave the tape on it. I wish it had taken a little longer to get back to me — this week I am icing my shoulder every two hours and am a little short on patience. Anyhoo. The week progresses.
Saturday: Book stares at me
Sunday: Book stares at me
Monday: Book now glaring at me
Tueday: More of the glare-stare
Wednesday evening: THREW BOOK OUT THE WINDOW
It fell nine stories and bounced really hard. First bounce off side of building (hope not off a window but hard to say) then a five foot bounce off the sidewalk and out into the street.
Damage report: barely a dent in one corner (bottom right) with a slight case of buckling, it’s possible the mailing tape helped reinforce it.
Well, that was kinda fun. By now it is nine oclock at night and getting darker and windier by the minute. Am beginning to feel like a hooligan!
Daughter and I head to the neighborhood park where there is a fountain. We first float the book by resting it on a raft made out of an aluminum pie pan. That looks dumb.
Next we float the book all by itself. That’s okay but there’s no action to speak of, the thing just floats and spins lazily like it’s doing a lazy float trip down the river. Nice but no cigar. By this time a few people are watching us in an idle sort of way.
So we stick it under the fountain where the water gushes out. Nice! Somebody laughs.
We retrieve the book and doggone it there is really no damage to speak of. A little water seeped under the tape, a little bit soaked through around the hole I drilled through it with the single hole paper punch, but nothing to write home about. The postage stamps are still intact.
All of the sudden I dropkick it across the plaza and my purple Croc flies in the air along with the book. People dining in the cafe next door applaud.
We run home laughing.