I got to the storage unit to pick up the costume (also seen here) and the ancient and talkative fellow who rents the unit next to us was there. (I’d heard about him from the guy who owns the storage unit place, apparently our neighbor is retired, doesn’t have a garage at his house and “likes to putter” and so spends a lot of his days at the storage unit.)

Note: This really was how our conversation went to the best of my ability to recall it. I think he might have had a stroke at some point or is mildly developmentally disabled. Or really lonely. In any case, holy crap.

“Hi, I’m ___. I’m your neighbor here at the storage units!”

“Hello, ___. I’m Jon.”

“You don’t come to your unit very often, do you?”

“Not really, no. Just when we need something.”

“Right! That’s why you put it in storage!”

“True enough.”

“Or when you have to put something in storage!”

“That’s also true, I guess.” 

“Picking up or dropping off?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you picking up something out of storage or dropping something off?”

“Oh. Picking up,” and then silently, to myself, “please, please, please, weird, but perfectly pleasant old man, don’t ask me what I’m picking up. Please don’t ask me what I’m picking up. Please don’t ask me what I’m picking up.”

“So, what are you picking up today?”

Under my breath, “Crap,” but out loud to him, “Um, it’s a thing we used in a TV commercial a few years back.”

“I don’t have TV.”

“OK,” and by this time, I’m moving through our storage unit in the near dark, searching for a huge testicle costume, being followed by a pleasant, though as a I get further and further back in the bowels of storage unit, an increasingly weird old man.

“What are you looking for? Maybe I could help you find it.”

“Oh, thanks a lot, but I think I can manage. And I don’t want to bother you with whatever you’re doing in your unit over there.”

“Nyaah, I’m just puttering over there. I can help.”

“Great, but I bet I’ll be fine.”

I find the testicle costume. Not in a box, of course. Just a kind of ginormous deflated beige thing sitting all sad and lonely up on a top shelf.

It’s huge.

I get it off the shelf without any problem, but it’s so large that I can’t get past my now profoundly weird old man storage unit neighbor new best friend who is now blocking the aisle.

“You need some help? Is that heavy?”

“No, no, no. I’ve got it. It’s not heavy at all. Just bulky,” and now I’m no longer a pinko commie agnostic, but I’m fervent believer, praying to an entire pantheon of deities that he doesn’t ask me what I’m carrying.

“What is that thing?”

“It’s a prop we used in a TV commercial.”

“I don’t have TV.”

“Right. Got it. So. Could you back up a little and then I can put this in my car and go back to work?”

“Looks like a bean bag chair. Was it a commercial for a bean bag chairs?”

I’m a little freaked out this point. I’m not exactly afraid of this guy, but he’s firmly pegged the creepy vibe needle well into the red. It doesn’t help that I’m carrying a giant testicle costume in my arms or that it’s dark in there or that I don’t have a clear exit to run screaming from the storage unit. But, if I had to guess, it’s mostly the giant testicles. Old guy is just weird old guy. I can probably take him by throwing the giant testicle costume at him and then running over him if things get truly weird. But really, I’m just done and want to get out of there and back to the relative safety of my nerd haven at work. 

So I explain to him, my voice eventually reaching a fine crescendo, “It’s a testicle costume. A giant testicle costume. A few years ago my company did a TV commercial about testicular cancer awareness and testing and for that we had a man in this testicle costume. He was dressed as a giant testicle and was on ice skates and he got checked by a bunch of hockey players because the message was that men should get their testicles checked on a regular basis. And one of my bosses needs the costume for something and because I like my job, I’m doing what he asked me to do, so I came here to get the giant testicle costume out of our storage unit. I have a feeling that once he’s done with whatever he needs a giant testicle costume for, I’ll be returning the giant testicle costume here to our storage unit.”

I have never said the words “testicle” more than I did to this old guy in that dark storage unit today.

He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, “Are you going to another TV commercial?”

“I have no idea if we’re doing another TV commercial.”

“I don’t have TV.”