I’m Trapped Under These Boxes And Can’t Get Out Of My Apartment

I'm Buried Under Boxes In My Apartment

Hello!? Is anybody getting this!? My fingers can barely reach the keyboard. I’ve been trapped in my apartment for over 72 hours now. If anybody out there is reading this please send help! My address is 2550 Too Expensive Road, San Francisco California.

I’m currently pinned facedown in the middle of my living room under a furniture box from Pottery Barn. I was told it was for a media console but I’ve never even seen a console in my apartment behind the piles of Bed Bath and Beyond returns. My arms and legs can’t move either. They’re trapped beneath half a dozen boot boxes from Bloomingdales. Not separate styles of boots either. The same pair, just different colors. I can’t even see out my window – the sunlight is blocked by mountains of Styrofoam packing material.

I thought moving apartments would be an opportunity to purge our place of all her extra shit, but it’s just gotten worse. Two boxes will go out and ten more will come in! I begged the UPS deliveryman for mercy and water, but he just shook his head sadly. As he walked down the staircase I heard him mutter, “That poor bastard’s a goner.”

I’d ask the Capital R Roommate to save me, but she’s out of town this weekend. She told me there would be a “few packages” I should “be on the lookout for.” She knew that the sheer volume and weight of the clothes and furniture boxes would crush my frail California frame. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me. Not in the traditional poisoning or domestic violence way. More like how Jigsaw kills his victims. The Capital R’s game is, “How many different sets of rustic gold vases and candle holders can I order until JR can no longer make it to the fridge?”

I’m so hungry. I’ve been chewing on these moisture repellant packets that came in the J Crew bags currently flooding my kitchen. I tried screaming for my neighbors but bubble wrap is filling my lungs. The last thing I’m ever going to see is a black curtain of winter jackets from Nordstrom that she had to buy in three different sizes to find the perfect fit, even though we live in fucking California.

Goodbye cruel world. Please tell my story. Let it be a lesson to all young couples moving in together. Leave my body here as a reminder to all of those who follow in my footsteps. May the tale of JR be a cautionary one.

“Here lies JR. He lived, she shopped online, he perished.”

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JR Hickey

Stand up comedian and writer from Chicago who now resides on the West Coast. JR can be seen performing at Cobbs Comedy Club in San Francisco and Zanies Comedy Clubs in Chicago. His work has been published in the Chicago Tribune and recently he was a part of SF Sketchfest 2015. JR's also the host of the PGP dating podcast Don't Take It From Us. He loves you very, very much.

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