I Want My, I Want My, I Want My Flying High: Moving For Nothing...Flags (or beers) For Free

Wow. What a week in Clinton, N.J. The building was sold which was the location of my dad's retail store since 1999--we shared our space with an Austrian kitchen-and-bath designer, whose skill made my parents' kitchen look as good as it does now. Our former landlord is 81 years of age, and a mess of a situation involved a rival kitchen-and-bath designer buying the building, and thus, drove us out.

So every day we would move our inventory from store-to-storage--a mind-numbing process which made me harp on the whole unemployed comedy/tragedy over the course of the last couple of years. The very thought that people with college degrees (like me) are fortunate enough to have jobs in the city and now live there, away from the restrictions of the mom-and-dad scene, and are able to socialize there on weekends is enough to drive one up a wall in this type of back-and-forth, Atari Pong-esque situation. It's like a party that you're observing from the outside, looking in at the scene with envious eyes.

The subtle idiosyncrasies of the mind take over when the crossroads of angst and eye-gauging boredom become the domineering factors; and when potential isn't fully utilized (for years), new mental outlets become as sought after as the Holy Grail of Sanity.

I had a very-cool co-worker from my brief seven-month stint at a local State Farm agency. One of those people who makes a lasting impression on you; one who you hope you keep in touch with, but will remember regardless. She is in her forties and is a HUGE fan of Dire Straits/Mark Knopfler. I met her husband when he came in on September 11th as he purchased a couple of flag sets (also very nice--good family all around). It was extremely hectic that day as most of what we still had left was out on the lawn. Despite heavily-discounted merchandise (people poured in from all over to look and buy), we had one of our best sales days in years, all while moving in a haphazard fashion.

As I was saying, my former co-worker loves Dire Straits, and it got me thinking of their 1985 hit "Money For Nothing." My dad used to play it quite a bit at parties in the '80s at our house in Fairfield, Conn. He played it so much that it caught on and resonated with my older brother and he used to sing it ad nausium. So anyway, I played it for him earlier this year, and gradually increased the volume to sneak into his subconscious. It must have put him into a time-warp to the time of the Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars, Rubik's Cubes, Ghostbusters, Smurfs and Care Bears, because he started mouthing along to the lyrics.

I made a Weird Al-type parody of the chorus, as I said the mind looks for any type of outlet while doing this type of work:

We got to install poles and mailboxes,
Custom flag set deliveries.
We got to move these authentic models,
We got move this inventory.

As it turned out, with the help of our neighbors, a few of our trustworthy handymen Glenn and Brian, and my friends Myles and Mike, we got the job done. We finished vacuuming and ultimately bid one final adieu to the place which served as Flying High's home for over a decade at around 10 p.m. when the deadline was at midnight after September 13th.