Second Season: Day 210

 

Oh hey it's Clifford the big red dog. Just kidding. It's a recycling dumpster. And I dove in it. Rewind. New Yorkers do things a little differently than what I'm used to in the Pacific Northwest. For example, when there's a sweet photo of your husband on the front page of the local sports section celebrating the first Eastern Division title win in 20 years, you mentally file a note to stop by the newspapers main office in the next few days to pick up copies of the paper to save in a scrap book. Easy peezy, lemon squeezy.

Or not. 

This morning on my way to the Binghamton Press and Sun I sent a group message to the wives, fiances and girlfriends of all the guys and took a head count on how many papers I should pick up. Sixteen. No biggie, they keep a back stock at newspaper head quarters right? WRONG. I got there and asked the lady for the copies of the paper from Monday and she grabbed four copies out of a filing cabinet. "Here ya go dear!' Wait, only four?! Yep. But they were free. After I explained why these papers were so important she gave me suggestions of places to go to find more copies. So I went to four gas stations. No luck. Then a Rite Aid, that refused to sell me the copy of the paper because it was past the sale date but gave me a single sports section from one of the papers. A CVS. A Weis. The Howard Johnson. (I should have known the mission was failed at the HoJo after I tried to get in through a broken door for several minutes and finally looked up to the entire front desk staff laughing hysterically at me.) Another gas station. That had two decrepit coffee stained copies from Tuesday. The gal told me they just put Monday's out to recycle, so yea, I did open up that dumpster and dig around. And found one more copy. (Not telling who got it, I shuffled.) I went by a podiatrists office, pediatricians office and a discount tire store, in hopes they still had copies from their respective lounges. Nope. Price Chopper. Red Apple. Fast Trac. And a last ditch effort to Gulf gas where the gal gasped in astonishment and said she just saw a stack of Monday's paper in the back that someone forgot to put out with the recycling. She called her manager when I pointed out that studly guy in the number one jersey, and explained why I so desperately wanted EVERY paper they had. And she gave them to me for free. Whew. 

Cheer's ladies. These bad boys were well worth it; addressed, stamped and ready for delivery! 

XOXO