thief of time

Saturday, October 23, 2004

Fun and Games

Some time ago, we ordered a three-seater lounge. It arrived today, just as I was returning from work, and it was truly large. I didn’t like the looks of things as I pulled up behind the truck. For some reason I had the mental picture of the fellow who starts building a boat in his garage and then finds he can’t get it out the door.

The two deliverymen weren’t terribly impressed as they tried to manoeuvre it through the front door and it wouldn’t go at all. In fact they made a rather belittling remark about not having thought about the size when we ordered.

I actually had thought about the size, but more about the thought that it might be too big for our lounge room, not that a piece of furniture wouldn’t go through what I assume is a standard, average-size Australian doorway. Being a supportive wife, I’m afraid I did mention “I told you” to my husband once or twice.

The deliverymen then suggested that my husband take off the front door, but that they couldn’t wait while he did so, as they were only paid to drop the lounge off.

I then began to picture having to kick our daughter out of home and telling her she’d have to rent a place with a very large set of French doors and take the lounge with her. Of course she wouldn’t have much else by way of furniture, other than her TV, stereo and brand new lounge, but what else does a teenager need when she first sets out on her own. I come from a long line of Scots and the thoughts of wasting a beautiful new lounge were extremely galling. My daughter comes from an even longer line of Scots—being one generation further along, so I was sure I could persuade her to come to the aid of non-wastage.

Then, as the deliverymen made their scornful way off down the driveway, I decided they’d been wrong about one thing, unless I was sorely mistaken. One of them had mentioned that it was all in one piece, and unless things had changed since we’d ordered it, all the back cushions should have been removable, as they were in the shop. Ripping a hole in the plastic covering the lounge proved they were wrong and we proceeded to strip every bit off the lounge that we possibly could.

Then my husband and son spent the next little while exercising their ingenuity and impressing their admiring audience with their strength and manual dexterity by getting the still impressively-sized lounge through the de-doored entrance. Just as much fun was to be had in getting it through the living room door immediately after that.

The room had gone through considerable shifting to prepare for the lounge’s arrival and went through considerably more as we worked on the best arrangement of items of furniture to optimise the use of the space. My husband made frequent cutting remarks about having too much in the room, ie, too many books. I don’t think that having three bookcases is all that much, but having the fourth one that contains all his records is perhaps carrying things just a bit too far and I can see that we might be further ahead to get rid of all that outmoded technology.

It’s nice to collapse in a heap now and realise that we won’t be moving that couch again unless it’s to the other side of the room. There it is and there it will stay. It will have to go with the house, as my husband certainly won’t be up to the manoeuvres in another few years’ time. In fact, judging from the loud rumbling noise coming from him at the moment, he may not have been up to it today, poor thing.


  • Removalists are a unique breed of workingman, I've found, insofar as I've never yet met a more consistent group of whinging malingerers in my life. "Oh, these boxes are shockin'" and "Third floor - don't you have a lift?" Oh, shut up. What am I paying for: your therapy?

    By Blogger Gregory, at October 26, 2004 at 2:50 p.m.  

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