The Potter Knows Everything

And, strange to tell, among the Earthen Lot

Some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried –

“Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?”¹

I explained to my friends on moving day that my future roommate Korissa had committed to bring a few more laborers to help us out and provide us with a flatbed trailer. She and I got to know each other as professionals in our fields at mutual workshops near her townhouse and it only seemed practical to migrate to her place when my new job started.

But my friends and I hemmed and hawed about what to do while a whole hour passed from our agreed upon start-up time when she didn’t show. We went ahead and packed the littler stuff into our cars but we knew we had to wait till she arrived in order to load the bigger stuff like dressers and furniture on the truck bed.

Just when we gave up hope for her arrival, a truck and trailer appeared in the driveway. She popped out all giddy with conversation onto the concrete in short shorts (despite the cold weather) and ball cap worn backwards (which showcased her new false fluttering eyelashes). Instead of introducing the three younger men she had brought with her, she strode single mindedly to the apartment refrigerator. She yanked the door open and stood, leaning inside. After several long seconds of her humming an unrecognizable song, she stood and slammed the door shut. She yelled across to the living room where I stood struck in horror by her, heretofore, unknown haughtiness. She asked what food I brought for her and the men. I pointed to the kitchen table spread with oriental rolls, deviled eggs and a variety of soft drinks. She stepped to it and surveyed the table with a curled lip.

Wordlessly, she marched outside and motioned to the truck driver to get back into the front seat. The other two men climbed into the back and off they went. My friends looked at one another, confused. Ten minutes later, Korissa returned. She and the men climbed out of the truck with bags of cupcakes, donuts and energy drinks. One of the fellows helped her wiggle herself up on top of the hood where she alternately crossed and uncrossed her bare legs to reach her long arms into their purchased bags. She flipped her hat on and off too as she giggled and competed for the goodies without offering anything to those of us who by now had waited for her and the men for two hours.

Tired of waiting, I motioned for my friends to move the furniture out to the driveway. As we set each item down, Korissa supervised their replacement onto the truck bed. She teased the truck driver and they tickled each other during the packing process. I had several folding chairs and the tallest of her crew wanted them for his backyard. I told him I wanted them and please just pack them on the trailer. When we were done loading, we had a few elastic cords to tie everything down. Two men went to the hardware store to buy rope and finished securing the load. As they did this, clouds had gathered, but since none of us had thought ahead to bring plastic sheets to cover and safeguard the travel, we decided it would not rain.

All in all, we had three cars and the truck with trailer bed on the freeway heading toward the big city. I breathed an easy breath as we were finally on our way and relaxed. But alas, about half way there it rained. I looked back over my shoulder to see that the ladened weight survived the onslaught. It stopped raining as we pulled beside Korissa’s townhouse garage. She and I had decided that each of us would have one side of the parking space for storage so I directed the unloading. The furniture went upstairs to the bedroom and the boxes of supplies went along the wall on my side.

Her voice sharpened a few decibels when she stopped the progress at midpoint. With arms waving in the air, she explained that I had way too many boxes and there wasn’t enough room for them all. I would have to get rid of them somehow. And despite that, she could smell cat urine. She demanded that I take all the boxes out of the garage and sort through them first to be odor free before placing them back inside because she would not tolerate that smell in her garage.

Everyone had stopped working while this conversation took place. It took several more minutes to decide that we would continue stacking after all and that I would go through everything myself later this afternoon and that I would find and eradicate the smell. Unnerved by her interruption, I didn’t scrutinize the boxes her men were piling higher next to the wall. The boxes were four rows high by now and the last few were placed precariously on top. When the task was finished, my departing friend’s rumbling car engine vibrated by the open garage door. One of these top boxes toppled with the gyration and crashed to the floor. To my dismay, it now held the broken pieces of all my corning ware dishes. They were the accumulated gifts from my mother that I had gathered throughout the years of her visiting me. Through tears, I swept up the mess as the tall guy came up to me and asked for payment.

Korissa hadn’t said anything about them expecting a payment. I had enough cash in my wallet to pay for the gas, but nothing else. The tall guy said that that was all right because he could just take the folding chairs and we would be square.

Tired, I walked up the stairs to my room. Boxes covered every surface. I scooted them aside to sit on the edge of the bed mattress. I leaned forward, arms on knees, head in my hands. I heard snatches of Korissa and the truck driver talking down stairs by the front door. As their frivolous conversation rose, my heart plunged.

For in the market place, one dusk of day,

I watch’d the potter thumping his wet clay;

And with its all obliterated tongue

It murmur’d – “Gently, Brother, gently, pray!”²

¹Omar Khayyάm, The Rubάiyάt of Omar Khayyάm, Penguin Books, 1995, translated by Edward Fitzgerald, LX 48

²Khayyάm, The Rubάiyάt of Omar Khayyάm, XXXVl 30