An Afternoon In Indianapolis

11 Jun

indianapolisWho would have thought she would find herself needing storage in Indianapolis! She turned right when the stoplight flicked to green. She only meant to spend the night in Indianapolis and then move on. But there are many things beyond one’s control in this mighty universe. She pulled the car over, parked and looked at the city map again.

Lydia had arrived early on this Monday morning, planning her day in an orderly, tidy manner. First on the schedule was a trip through the Benjamin Harrison Presidential Site, the “historical home of the 23rd president”. After that, she planned to tour the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art. To have adequate time to properly assimilate the museums, she planned not to add anything more to her day. After the museums closed, she would drive to to the next city on her map and continue her orderly exploration of museums across the United States.

And now, this. Lydia sighed. She looked and saw no one about. She got our of her car and went to the rear of her black, sensible car and opened the cavernous trunk. What was she going to do? She couldn’t haul this around with her! She shook her head and shut the trunk. She had never had storage in Indianapolis before. She went back in the driver’s seat, sat behind the steering wheel and looked at the map again. She huffed, sending her short, graying bangs flying upwards. What to do, what to do!

Rarely had such an opportunity presented itself so clearly, so easily! She searched the ‘net on her phone and found it: 24-Hour Storage Indianapolis. It would do.

After reaching the office by phone, she donned a heavy old-fashoned scarf about her head and hair, slipped dark glasses over her prescription lenses, fluffed her gray bangs and drove to the facility. She wrote a check, waved good-bye to the manager went to her newly rented space, opened the door.

Two hours later, she locked the car, then the door of the storage unit, adjusted her slacks and walked briskly toward the street and nearest bus stop. Museums really must improve their security! she thought. She squinted at the unaccostomed feel of the blue eye contacts and brushed the blonde hair from her face. Maybe she could stay here awhile. Imagine meeting your own dopelganger in a museum in Indianapolis, she thought as she rummaged through her new purse. Irene…that’s a name I could like for a long time. Irene discarded the prim, proper personna of Lydia and laughed lightly as Irene. She looked up her new address…not bad, close to her job at the museum.