I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
So, my beloved house, HQ, has been continuously inhabited for nearly 10 years, passed from college student to college student as old friends graduate and new ones move in. The furniture, dishes and appliances within it have remained, even as the house's residents have changed. As such, a rather eclectic assortment of items has accumulated here. There are two recliners; there were four couches; there are no functional chairs for the dining room table.
Given that there are only three residents of HQ (myself, Francisco and Hyperbole), having four couches is somewhat unnecessary. So, when Katflandu mentioned at the office that she was in need of a couch, I figured it wouldn't hurt to give one of the couches away. I asked the roommates, they consented, and the move was on.
Katflandu brought the "Mommy Missile," her mom's minivan, and Francisco and I attempted to move the couch out of the house and into the vehicle.
Into the vehicle was idealistic thinking at that point. The trick was getting the couch out of the living room/garage and into the rest of the house proper.
Oh, what a challenge it proved to be.
Before Katflandu arrived, I took the cushions off the couch and moved it as far away from the wall as I could by myself , so that when she got to HQ, we could all expedite the couch-moving process. Once the couch was bared and prepared, and the van/Katflandu combination arrived, Francisco and I initiated the couch-moving process.
It was always going to be a tight fit getting it through the door between the living room and the rest of the house, and it proved challenging for Francisco, who isn't the most physically talented person I know. (Katflandu is short and female, so I was going to try and make it so she didn't have to help move the couch. Plus, I was doing her a favor, so I didn't really think it was all that cool for her to have to help.)
To summarize the previous paragraph and place it into the context of the lead: If I'm the strongest person moving anything heavy, the entire operation is in deep trouble.
As Francisco and I angled the couch toward the door, tragedy struck. Francisco's MacBook, which he was too callous to name, ended up pinched between the couch we were moving and the couch he was sitting on before Katflandu arrived.
"Crunch."
"OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!"
It turned out that his computer ended up with only the upper left half diagonal of the screen working. Whoops. That was partially my fault, as I was the one closest to the end of the offending couch leg.
(Francisco, I would like to reiterate how sorry I am for this. I really, really am. Dude, it really sucks. But as you said later, it gives you a good opportunity to test out the iPad and netbook combination you contemplated getting.)
This was just the beginning of an exercise in futility.
After taking a few minutes to finally align the couch with the interior door, Francisco and I had to rotate the couch to get it through. That proved to be difficult, but not an insurmountable task, especially once the hide-a-bed mattress decided to try and fall out halfway through the door, throwing our balance out of whack and ending up with the couch on the door frame.
Thankfully, we were able to go straight through the front door, as its wider mouth was more forgiving.
However, Francisco was having issues with getting his "sausage fingers" (his quotes, not mine) underneath the couch to be able to move it effectively. This was exacerbated when we moved outside and tried to get the couch into the Mommy Missile, which was awaiting us in the alley. It was a three-steps-and-set-it-back-down process for until we got it to the downhill slope before the alley.
Of course, the former neighbors left a beanbag chair in our path on their way out the door - a detail I overlooked in my adrenalin-infused couch-moving rage. And then I stumbled into it and almost killed myself and Francisco as we finally got within reach of the Mommy Missile.
But hey, we got the couch into the back of the van. The battle is mostly complete. All we have left is to get the couch into Katflandu's new apartment. It can't be that hard, right?
In passing, I said to Katflandu, "You don't live on the second floor, do you?" She said she did.
So, the answer of the previous rhetorical question was: WRONG. It was in fact going to be "that hard."
So, we ride over to Katflandu's apartment, with me only breaking a couple of laws by sitting next to the couch in the back of the van. (Obviously, to get a couch into a van, the rear seats have to be removed. This becomes problematic when it takes three people to move said couch. Oh well.)
Once we got to the apartment, we encountered the narrow stairs. Just wide enough to get the couch between the rails, but not wide enough to turn it around either of the two corners. This was doable.
I went up the stairs back-first, figuring it was easier for me to go up the stairs than it was for Francisco, and also thinking it would be easier to guide the couch around the corner at the landing.
We got the couch right up to the landing, but Francisco had run out of energy at this point, through no fault of his own. In his defense, I kind of sprung this whole incident on him, and here he was, sweating and breaking himself after he watched the screen of his computer get smashed. He's a trooper.
At one point, I uttered in frustration, "I love every little inept bit of you, Francisco." I stand by the statement.
So, we rotate and I go to the bottom of the couch and force it around the corner as Francisco and Katflandu both take hold of the top part and guide it.
We make it around the corner. Success. But there's still more to go. One more corner at the top of the stairs, a little bit wider, but still an adventure.
After a little bit of struggling, we just decide to disregard any standard moving conventions and just flip the couch end over end to get it to the top. Once we get it to the top, victory was finally in sight. The sliding glass door was agape, waiting to receive its soon-to-be house(inani)mate. Apart from almost knocking down the drainpipe for the apartment complex's gutters, we finally finagled the couch into its final resting place. As a triumphant sign of conquering, I replaced the cushions on the couch and left the apartment.
So, I don't think there's money in the furniture-moving business for Francisco or myself.
Of course, the former neighbors left a beanbag chair in our path on their way out the door - a detail I overlooked in my adrenalin-infused couch-moving rage. And then I stumbled into it and almost killed myself and Francisco as we finally got within reach of the Mommy Missile.
But hey, we got the couch into the back of the van. The battle is mostly complete. All we have left is to get the couch into Katflandu's new apartment. It can't be that hard, right?
In passing, I said to Katflandu, "You don't live on the second floor, do you?" She said she did.
So, the answer of the previous rhetorical question was: WRONG. It was in fact going to be "that hard."
So, we ride over to Katflandu's apartment, with me only breaking a couple of laws by sitting next to the couch in the back of the van. (Obviously, to get a couch into a van, the rear seats have to be removed. This becomes problematic when it takes three people to move said couch. Oh well.)
Once we got to the apartment, we encountered the narrow stairs. Just wide enough to get the couch between the rails, but not wide enough to turn it around either of the two corners. This was doable.
I went up the stairs back-first, figuring it was easier for me to go up the stairs than it was for Francisco, and also thinking it would be easier to guide the couch around the corner at the landing.
We got the couch right up to the landing, but Francisco had run out of energy at this point, through no fault of his own. In his defense, I kind of sprung this whole incident on him, and here he was, sweating and breaking himself after he watched the screen of his computer get smashed. He's a trooper.
At one point, I uttered in frustration, "I love every little inept bit of you, Francisco." I stand by the statement.
So, we rotate and I go to the bottom of the couch and force it around the corner as Francisco and Katflandu both take hold of the top part and guide it.
We make it around the corner. Success. But there's still more to go. One more corner at the top of the stairs, a little bit wider, but still an adventure.
After a little bit of struggling, we just decide to disregard any standard moving conventions and just flip the couch end over end to get it to the top. Once we get it to the top, victory was finally in sight. The sliding glass door was agape, waiting to receive its soon-to-be house(inani)mate. Apart from almost knocking down the drainpipe for the apartment complex's gutters, we finally finagled the couch into its final resting place. As a triumphant sign of conquering, I replaced the cushions on the couch and left the apartment.
So, I don't think there's money in the furniture-moving business for Francisco or myself.
