Short Takes: Carrying the Bride over the Threshold

Carole and I got married in September of 1997 — the wedding ceremony was at the beautiful Sarah P Duke Gardens in Durham, NC. We honeymooned in Florida, visiting Clearwater (avoided the Scientologists), Cocoa Beach (almost got arrested by a couple of Air Force military police), Key West (drank a bit and went snorkeling), the Everglades (saw a ton of leather-clad orthodontists on their Harleys), an urgent care clinic in Naples (Carole had a terrible ear infection, not at all something you look forward to on one’s honeymoon, I really don’t recommend it), Brooksville (where my parents lived), and then back to Clearwater. We were still married at the end of the honeymoon, which I’m given to understand is not something one can take for granted these days. We flew back home to Durham afterwards.

But of all those memories, the one that’s always popping into my brain unbidden is what happened when we got home from the honeymoon.

We drove home from RDU to our apartment in south Durham — the Park Ridge Apartments, building 904-A, apartment 8. We lived on the second floor and so there was absolutely no way I was going to try to carry Carole from the car all the way to our door. Dropping one’s wife on the stairs and watching her, Winnie-the-Pooh like, going bump, bump, bump is not a good way to start married life. By mutual consent we walked up the stairs together. I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Then I hoisted Carole inelegantly into my arms and together we crossed the threshold to begin our married life together.

Except. The. Power. Was. Off.

It wasn’t that the lights were off and simply needed the flick of a switch to come on. We had No Power.

Frustratingly, the building itself had power; there were lights on in the foyer and stairwell and landing and other apartments. We were the lucky people who got to come home to a dark apartment with a refrigerator full of spoiled food and water on the floor where all the ice in the freezer had melted and run out.

I looked at Carole and said “Please don’t take this as an ill omen of how our marriage is going to go.”

Our phone was still working — this was pretty much before cell phones — and so we called the power company.

“So,” we said. “We just got home from our honeymoon — we were out of town for a week. And you know the funniest thing? Our power is off. What’s up?”

Keyboard clicking ensued.

“Oh, yes. We shut it off a week ago.”

…

“WHY???”

Much confusion ensued. It turned out that someone else had moved out of the next building over and their disconnect order had been … applied… to… our… apartment. Because of course it had.

I’ll give the power company this: they got the power back on pretty quickly, a half hour or so, and they ultimately reimbursed us for all the spoiled food in our refrigerator and freezer. (It smelled terrible in there.)

29 years later, I still remember that moment of sheer WTF as I lurched through the door carrying my new bride only to be met by darkness and metaphorical tumbleweeds.