When Boxes Attack

By Dave Fox

I left a minor detail out of yesterday’s post about my injured foot. After whimpering online about my ordeal with the Smurf-loving podiatrist, I was flooded with approximately two e-mails from concerned readers, the basic gist of which was, “But Dumbass, you didn’t even tell us how you hurt yourself.”

Allow me to make one thing clear: I did not hurt myself. An evil, stupid box of books hurt me. To say I hurt myself implies that I did something to myself. I was an innocent victim.

What happened was… at around 4 a.m. Sunday, I awoke with the dregs of jetlag. I stumbled down the hall, in the dark, to the bathroom. Lurking in the shadows was the aforementioned stupid, evil box of books, which had been hanging out on my bedroom floor ever since I painted my living room back in… May, I think.

The box and I had lived in loving harmony, until very early last Sunday morning, when the box, upon hearing me stumbling toward the bathroom in the dark, jumped in front of me and attacked.

I’m not sure why my box went berzerk and chose to turn on me like this, but I suspect it might have been getting into some crystal meth or something. In any event, had the box not thrown itself in front of me in my darkened bedroom, I never would have kicked it… very hard… with my bare toes.

That’s how my injury occurred.

People, this might sound like an isolated incident, but I fear it could be part of a growing crisis in America — perfectly nice and sturdy cardboard boxes fall in with the wrong crowd, and the next thing you know, they just aren’t the dear, sweet boxes you have nurtured for years and years. Your boxes have turned evil.

And don’t think this is just a big city problem! No! I heard of an incident in Big Timber, Montana, in which a box full of previous years’ tax returns jumped off of a closet shelf and landed on its owner’s head. The poor accountant was left paralyzed.

So — and I really mean this seriously — talk to your boxes before it’s too late. Otherwise, you could end up like me, hobbling around on crutches, dumping bowls of salad all over your kitchen floor. (I learned today it is very hard to carry a bowl of salad across your kitchen when you are using crutches.) Tell your boxes you love them. Find out who they hang out with when you aren’t around. And make it clear to your boxes that if you ever catch them abusing crystal meth, you will send them to the recycling bin where they cannot hurt anybody.

Published on Thursday, November 8, 2007

2 Responses to “When Boxes Attack”

  1. nancy
    November 8, 2007 at 12:23 PM

    I had a wall jump out in front of my foot many years ago. Looking back on the unfortunate accident I should have been proactive and discussed with the wall that I enjoyed using my foot without being in pain and to not jump in front of my foot causing undesirable pain in my toes.
    Anyway, I hope your foot is getting better.

  2. Jeri
    November 10, 2007 at 7:51 AM

    Dave! It’s a box conspiracy, and I’m afraid the target is… you!
    I didn’t know about the conspiracy when I tucked my newly autographed copy of Getting Lost into an evil drug-abusing Priority Mail box along with some other stuff I didn’t have room to carry home from Seattle in my luggage. In due time I picked it up at the post office, and when I sliced open the tape, there was some scary oozing substance smeared all over everything.
    Honey. Sequim Valley Lavender Honey, to be exact.
    I am assuming it was not your secret fantasy to be smeared with honey and mailed to a random location, so it must have been The Box.
    Watch out for those things. Who knows where this will end?

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