The Correct Answer To This Question Is Oh My God, Stop Thinking About This Right Now, You Crazy Woman.
Hi, people! Welcome to Monday. I have issues.
Actually, what I have is an unusual problem. It is a problem of so much unusualness that I am going to ask you all to tell me what, precisely, you would do if faced with this problem. Now, I warn you. Just because this problem is unusual does not mean that it is not stupid. It is. This problem is completely lame.
The lameness, however, makes me no less flummoxed. WWJD? Or, as Dukay says, What Would Jack Bauer Do? (In other situations, answers to this question have included, "Jack Bauer would tie Bo to the radiator until he talks!" and "Jack Bauer would eat the shit out of some barbecue!" We ask that question kind of a lot in my house.)
So, here is situation. I woke up this morning at 6 to an ungodly amount of noise, coming from both inside and outside of my home. The outside noise, I soon discovered, was the result of an enormous truck in the middle of my street, backing up to the neighbor's house, all BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEP. The inside noise was the dogs responding hysterically (AHHHH) to the beeping. I ultimately calmed them down and went back to bed, and had pretty much forgotten about the whole event by the time I (eventually) got up.
So, I got up and dressed and showered (not in that order, actually) and walked outside in the rain, and that is where I was surprised to find several pallets of materials sitting on my yard.
Hmm, said I.
These pallets are not mine, I said.
The pallets glared at me, mysteriously. They, however, said nothing.
It was really pouring, so I ran over to them, pulling my coat over my head, and tried to figure out what they could be. They looked like landscaping materials, but I couldn't figure out what they contained, because they'd been shrink wrapped. Whatever it was, was lumpy. And it was a lot of something lumpy. I looked for a packing slip or some delivery information: no. I looked for a company name on the pallets: no. I looked for ANYthing that might explain from whence these mystery pallets originated, or where they were actually supposed to go: no.
I thought maybe there would be a delivery slip in my mailbox or on the front door. No. I thought maybe there would be a phone number or packing slip under the shrink wrap, so I poked around. No. There is absolutely no clue as to their origin. It is like they were dropped out of the damned sky. Except for that they were actually dropped from a damned truck, which clearly was in the wrong place. I saw a number written on the side of one pallet in Sharpie; it could be an address, but it's not mine. And it's not a number that corresponds with any house on my street, or the cross street.
Now...y'all. I have to say, I just have no idea what I should do. I have pallets. ("Pallets" almost sounds like a disease, like rickets. I have pallets! I have to have penicillin!) They're not mine. They clearly contain a lot of something (lumpy) that someone needs, and which they paid good money for. This may also be a time-sensitive thing for all I know, and there are people waiting for these pallets before they can start working today, only I have the wayward pallets, and Lord only knows. But I don't know who, or what, or where, or why, or any of those other key questions. I also don't know who one calls regarding delivery of unauthorized pallets by a very noisy truck at 6 a.m. There is no protocol here.
Applying the What Would Jack Bauer Do analysis to the facts at hand, I think my options are as follows:
Option 1: Blow up pallets, in case they contain deadly Syntox gas which will soon be released into air systems all over my neighborhood, and then dive dramatically out of the way at the last possible second, riding the wave of the explosion (in my business suit) and clutching approximately four dogs as flames and bits of something (lumpy) rain about us; somersault to safety, hair slightly disshevelled, small black smudge under left eye.
Option 2: Interrogate pallets, using syringe and handgun; use psychological attacks. Attempt to turn pallets against each other ("That's not what the OTHER pallet said!").
Option 3: Drill air holes in pallets, in case pallets contain key CTU staff trapped by evil terrorists; perform complicated laboratory tests using satellites and protocols to determine heat ratio of pallets; free trapped CTU staff, unless trapped character is Kim Bauer, in which case, see Option 1.
Those are the Jack Bauer answers. If we went another way and applied the standard What Would Jesus Do analysis to the facts at hand, the answer would probably be:
Option 1: Not sell pallets on eBay as "Mystery Boxes of Fun, may contain Hoffa!";
Option 2: Put up flyer announcing to neighborhood at large: "FOUND PALLETS. Earthly reward not necessary -- awaiting me in Heaven."
Option 3: Not do anything that Jack Bauer would do, ever.
But why stop there? We need more perspective.
What Would Bo Do?
Option 1: Bark at.
Option 2: Pee on.
Option 3: HATE.
Last night was Sunday, and it's not TV, it's HBO, and considering that, What Would Bill Paxton From Big Love Do?
Option 1: Marry pallets.
Option 2: Expose naked behind to pallets; hope for best.
Option 3: Give pallets to Margene with accompanying discussion about being the steward of material goods, like, Bill? Wrong wife, dude. This is a conversation you need to be having with the blonde one. Right now. Hop to.
Similarly, What Would Tony Soprano Do?
Option 1: Smoke cigar with pallets; feel pallets out. Do pallets have loyalties to Johnny Sack? FUCKING PALLETS!
Option 2: Intimidate pallets.
Option 3: Pallets sleep with the fishes.
So…that is kind of where I am right now. I have pallets. That is beginning to sound funny to me. It is possible to think too much about pallets.
Pallets of DOOOOOOM!
Um. Okay. In all seriousness, if the things are still there when I get home (and I just talked to my neighbor, who confirmed that they're still there now, just...hanging out in the yard), I probably will have to put up a sign. Really, this is the flat out stupidest problem I've had so far this year. It's not a crisis or some huge inconvenience or anything (although, I am really not sure what I am supposed to do with all these pallets of whatever if I can't find the owners, but being that the pallets have been there for all of six hours at this point, I should probably jump off that particular bridge when I get to it), but, it's clearly going to be a problem for somebody. I mean, usually, when a package gets delivered to you by mistake, you can call UPS! You can call the post office! FedEx! Someone! But the phone book contains no listing for "big loud truck at 6 a.m.". I mean, I didn't check, but I feel safe assuming as such.
So, Internet! WWYD? Would you blow them up? Submerge them in the neighbor's pool and see if they can swim? Paint them green and pretend they are large square bushes?
What Would Martha Stewart Do? Stencil them? Coat them in glitter? What Would Dick Cheney Do? Donald Trump? The lead singer from Twisted Sister? There are so many possibilities!
Creativity is encouraged. It's Monday; what else are you going to do? Y'all go fuck with some pallets and get back to me.