The Stroller From Hell
It was a lovely, sunny January afternoon. January 19th to be exact. So warm. I needed to celebrate.
Christie had gone out to do some studying and work for her training, and so it was me and the kids. A Sunday afternoon with the sun shining down enticed me to go for a long walk to Mandolin Books. I went into the garage and fished out the neglected running stroller. It has just been too cold to walk much the past few weeks.
The kids were excited. One had come with me to Mandolin Books and Coffee before, one had not. This was going to be a real “daddy date”. A real pleasure. One of those moments my kids will look back and write about in their memoirs when they are telling of how great a father I was to them.
The walk was a bit more difficult than anticipated, but I trudged through the mountains of snow and uncleared sidewalks. That’s what this stroller was built for! It is the Hummer of the stroller world. The “Chariot” was finally getting it’s day to show off its skills.
Unfortunately, one of those skills is being huge. So we got to Mandolin Books and Coffee, and I remembered just how tiny the place is. Especially when it is full. Shoot. The stroller fit in the door, so I unloaded the kiddies, wheeled it in, and watch it start to melt black goop onto the floor of the coffee shop. I began to feel everyone was watching me as I struggled with the step-by-step process of making this monstrosity slightly smaller through a series of folds. But not small enough. Where was I going to stash this thing? I moved it from spot to spot, trying not to block any paths, but with the place jammed with coffee connoisseurs, it was no use. I decided to retreat and move the beast back outside. I’d stash it beside the door and hope no one with a penchant for stroller theft noticed. Worst part was, if I was leaving it outside anyways, I hadn’t needed to fold it.
A half hour passed leisurely as the kids and I enjoyed apple ciders and large photography books. I felt a bit like the super dad I know exists deep down in me somewhere. But little did I know, he was about to hibernate.
We packed up to leave, needing to head for home to make supper for a reasonable time. It would get darker and colder soon. The kids waited while I reassembled their ride. While I tried to unfold what I had folded. And then tried again. The stroller was wet and slippery. The ground was icy. The brake had not been put on (entirely my fault). It wheeled wildly about as I tried to pop things into place. No go. The kids played – a little too close to the road – while I fought the beast. I bent and twisted. I pulled a popped. I threw metal and canvas into the air and hoped it fell into the right places. It did not. 15 full minutes later, we walked back into the store. How would we get home? The kids could not make the walk. The sun was now dissappearing. Visions of dinner were fading as I revised my gandiose plans time and again. This wonderful walk was becoming a horrid mistake. I called home for rescue, but Christie was still out. I thought and thought. There would be no rescue. I prayed. I regained my compusre and psyched up for round two.
Leaving the kids in the bookstore to browse, I went back to face my opponent. He came out of his corner weaker than before, and after a few moments, through grit and determination, I wore him down. The Chariot was back in form with only one excruciating blow to my pinched pinky finger. Cold, tired and worn, I collected my children and began the long walk home into the sunset.
Next time, I am not folding that stroller.