So I wanted to blog yesterday, but could not, because of the Great Couch Debacle of 2008.
I will now attempt to lay out what happened in a calm and logical manner, as to not cloud the story with my opinionated emotions and my emotional opinions on the matter:
1. Phone call comes from delivery men. “We are here with your couch.”
2. I come outside and greet the delivery men.
3. Delivery man #1 comes in and examines the area where I’d like the couch to go. “No problem. Let’s do it.”
4. Couch is rolled into my apartment complex. No problems.
5. Couch is rolled through the front door. No problems.
6. Couch is rolled through the hall. No problems.
7. Couch is rolled through my bedroom doorway. PROBLEM.
8. Delivery men discuss situation in Spanish. Delivery man #2 turns to me, where I am anxiously wringing my hands in the doorway. “I’m sorry ma’am, it won’t fit.” I am... slightly distraught. “There is no way?” “No way.” “No possible way at all?” “No, no way. “NO WAY AT ALL?” “Well, there is one way…”
9. Delivery men put the couch down and explain to me that the only way the fucking couch is getting into my room is… drumroll please… THROUGH THE FUCKING WINDOW.
10. I hold approximately sixteen screaming conversations with my mother, my father, and ZGallerie, who informs me that if I wish to return the couch, I will be out 20% plus the delivery fee.
I love the fucking couch. I am not returning it. That is not an option. Instead…
11. I tell the delivery men to leave it in the den. They do so. I tip them. They leave.
12. I cry.
13. I begin discussions with my serious retard of a handyman regarding his ability to REMOVE THE ENTIRE FUCKING WINDOW, PUT THE COUCH IN, AND REINSERT THE FUCKING WINDOW.
14. I cry some more.
15. I call Jacob and tell him the story. His response? “Only a fucking idiot buys a couch without making sure it fits through the doorway.” I hang up on him.
16. He calls me back. I pick up and cry. He feels bad and apologizes. We discuss the problem. He distracts me with several other stories including the Tale of Paul Ryburn’s Blog (more on that later). 17. I stop crying and am calm.
18. I wander out to the kitchen to get a snack. I see the couch in the den.
19. I cry again.
That is basically how I spent about 4.5 hours yesterday – crying and freaking out and dealing with the Great Couch Debacle of 2008. Currently, the fucking couch is still chilling in my den. I have plans this weekend for the handyman to come and remove the window. I will keep you all posted.
EVERYONE CROSS YOUR FINGERS. I WILL NOT BE A HAPPY CAMPER IF I HAVE TO RETURN MY BELOVED COUCH.