The Flying Futon (or Testing Bernoulli’s Principle)

      It was an ordinary late summer afternoon in Sacramento, temperature in the high 90s, people in shorts and t-shirts everywhere I looked. On this particular August afternoon, I had joined a group of folks who were helping our friend, Christmas, move from a small apartment in Midtown to a condo closer to the Sacramento State campus. This move was a big undertaking, and three or four of us with trucks had shown up to be of help. My 1994 Toyota short bed pickup was ready for action. I had brought along some bungee cords to use as tie-downs and, of course, water to drink. I usually put an ice pack behind my back and created my private cooling station. But on this day, it was just me, the bungees, and a bottle of water.
     So- back to the story. As we loaded Christmas’ possessions into the vehicles, someone asked me to transport her futon bed, amongst other items. 
     "No problem, " I said. 
     Our friend Steve and another guy loaded the truck, placing the futon on top of the other items. It was quite heavy. I watched as they struggled to lift the futon, perspiration beading on their foreheads, audible groaning taking place.

     As Steve got into the passenger side of the truck, I asked him, “Hey, do you think we should use the bungees to tie the futon down?”

    “Nope, that futon is really bulky and its weight will keep it in place,” said he.

     Okey dokey; away we drove.

     Winding our way through leafy side streets, doing between 20 and 30 mph, everything seemed OK. We came to the Highway 50 on ramp - I seem to remember that it was the one near 24th Street. Up the ramp I drove, being careful to watch as I merged into the second lane from the right. Once we were on the freeway, we were both glad for the moving air, which made a small difference to the temperature inside the cab. We ascended a slight rise and rounded a corner just after X Street.

     We followed the curve of the road around to the right. With no discernible warning, the futon suddenly flew from the back of the truck, landing in the far right lane of the freeway.

    “Oh My God!”, I shouted.

    “Oh, shit!”, Steve muttered.

    “I thought you said we didn’t need to tie that thing down!” I screamed.

    “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought…” Steve said, more to himself than to me.

     Less than a minute after the futon hit the ground, we saw a large semi coming up the rise and hit the mattress full-on. It was like a slow-motion explosion - stuffing flying all over the road! It was a silent explosion, however, as cotton explosions are not nearly as ear-splitting as something - anything- more solid would be. My heart was beating out of my chest; I could imagine cars careening into the mess, collision after collision on an already crowded road.

     We pulled over and kept watch on the road behind us. Thankfully, no drivers slammed on their brakes. No accidents took place. But our minds were officially blown - almost as badly as the futon had been.

   “What now?,” I asked him.

   “Let’s just keep moving; No cops are on our tail, so let’s get outta here,” Steve said.

     The next thing that came to mind: How was I going to explain to our friend that she now had no bed? You were given ONE job, I thought to myself…and you failed epically. Wait! I suddenly remembered: I had a futon, and it was being stored in the attic above my garage. Fortunately, my house was directly on the way to our destination. 

  “Hey, Steve,” I said, “Do we have time to stop by my house?”

   “Think so,” he replied. “How much worse can this get, anyways?”  

     We drove over to my Tahoe Park bungalow, and Steve and I retrieved the futon (wrapped in plastic) from the scorching attic. Laboriously bringing it down the ladder and hefting it into the truck bed, we kept looking at one another and laughing. Guess what? We actually tied it down this time! I slowly drove to our friend’s new condo. We were last to arrive. I was over trying to be in a hurry at that point, and frankly between the heat, the shock of dumping a futon on the freeway, and general confusion, my head was pounding.

     When we arrived at the condo, we confessed our sins immediately.

     “I hate to tell you this, but your futon is now all over Highway 50,” I announced.

     “But I don’t understand,” Christmas said. “I see one in the back of your truck!”

     “Yeah, I know,” I replied. "That’s an upgrade for you, straight from my attic!"

     “Oh, cool!” she chirped. “Hey, no problem. I’m sure it’s gonna be just fine.”

     We (and by “we” I mean other people) hoisted it up the steps to her second-floor unit. There was pizza waiting, along with cold water and soda. I ate mechanically. Shock will do that to a person. The cold soda soothed my nerves a bit. Eventually, I drove Steve back home. What a day!!

     For weeks afterwards, I saw bits of futon all over the bank above that certain section of the road where the “futon incident” had taken place. If only I had taken more notes in physics class…