Act 1, Scene 12: “Creeping Pride”

TRL enters the garage to move over the stroller so he can pull in the car. He looks around and is oddly satisfied with its order. He had swept the floors and neatly stacked the newspapers, put the cans and glasses in a bin for recycling, set his bike against a wall and neatly ordered the gardening equipment gifted from the bank for opening a new account, the two brooms he had purchased (one wide one for covering a lot of space and one short-angled model for getting into corners) the rake (complimented as “nice” by the next door neighbor) and fluids – tiki torch oil, antifreeze, motor oil – inherited from the previous owners. The inflated baby pool hung neatly from a hook in the ceiling and the extra baby stroller and TRL’s mountain bike sat against a side wall. It wasn’t a beautiful garage – not gleaming white but instead was exposed wood – but it was more storage space than TRL had ever had and it was well ordered and dry. He moves the stroller over, takes another long and satisfied look around, and opens the garage door to walk to the car.

Three hours later TRL is checking store hours for Lowe’s on the Internet. Upon getting to the website, his heart immediately flutters with excitement. There is a picture of a very satisfied man standing in one outstanding garage: finished white walls, a painted white floor, handsome shelving hung against the walls, two gray sturdy-looking storage closets, a blue ladder – reminding TRL of hip designer eyeglasses in its style – hanging from the ceiling, some new plastic buckets and coolers sitting on a platform also hanging from the ceiling, a smart and space saving setup seeming levitating above the beauty of the clean and open space (no cars to mar this beauty!). Something in TRL had been stirred. He was excited, a Pavlovian response to the ultra clean and ordered garage depicted in the photo. He wanted one just like it. So he was about to click on the icon that said Great garages start with organization.

And then he yanked his hand from the mouse.

What the hell was he doing?

Who cared about garages? What a waste of time, he thought. It was like something was living inside him, growing, some suburban pride of place which had started its focus inside the home and now extended out to the garage, to the lawn and even the sidewalk in front of the house. What would be next? Joining a neighborhood association? Hosting block clean-up day? Running for town assembly?

He clicks out of the website before things get out of control.