Couch Fail

Last Saturday morning, we woke up bright and early and walked to catch the MAX (Portland's light rail) to Lindsay's parents' place in the 'burbs. We were off to buy a couch.

At the furniture store, we found a couch we thought would be just perfect for our apartment. Nice fabric. Cleans easy. Long enough for Lindsay's brother to sleep on. Great price. Sold! The sales guy informed us the couch would be delivered later that night. Same day delivery... can't go wrong.

Delivery #1

Around 7pm the delivery guys show up in an Enterprise rental truck (hmmm). Meanwhile, we are on the 3rd floor of an early 1900's house. The entranceway into our apartment is... tricky. Tight corner, slanted ceiling, a number of stairs and turns. I was hoping they would be able to work some magic, but was incredulous. (And, of course, we didn't measure anything. Mistake.)

They succeeded in getting the couch up the first set of stairs, then had to take off our door because the frame is too narrow. OK, we could handle that. Some pounding later, the door was off. Then, heave, heave, heave (please don't damage our walls!!), heave. "Ummm, sorry, we can't work magic." Damn. Two inches too long. Then, heave, heave, heave, and the couch was back out the door.

Another night of eating in camping chairs.

Delivery #2

The next morning we hopped on the train, headed back to the 'burbs and back to the furniture store. (Groundhog Day, anyone?) Again, somehow, we went without measurements.

We found a similar couch that was 14 inches shorter and about as tall as the previous couch. Yes, it'd fit, and it'd arrive between 6 and 10 pm Sunday night.

At 9:45 the couch guy calls. "Umm miss, we're an hour away." Really? On a Sunday night? You've got to be kidding me. I picture them pounding away at our door to remove it--once again--from its hinges. Our neighbors are going to hate us.

At 10:40, still no word from couch guys, so I call their dispatcher. 30 minutes away. 30 minutes means at least 45.

At 11:20, the couch guys pull up. They don't apologize for being so late. They pound and pound and pound to remove the door. Door off. Check. Couch starts heading up the stairs. It fits around the corner the previous couch couldn't. Check. "Please be careful around the corners, and watch that --riiiiiiiiiiiiiip -- nail."

They set the couch up as Lindsay and I inspect the couch and find--not one, but two--rips in the fabric. Great. We're going to need another couch.

Delivery #3

Early Tuesday afternoon, our property manager called to let me know the technician was on his way to fix our stove. I packed up my lap top, drank the rest of my coffee, and headed home.

Right as I enter my apartment, the couch guys called to let me know they'd be there in 20 minutes.

As the eccentric stove guy talked away to himself and the couch guys pounded away at our door, I stood anxiously at the top of the stairs hoping both could deliver their services. (After 3 failed attempts to fix it, she finally bought us a new one!) The couch guys managed to get the couch up our stairs without hardly breaking a sweat.

Finally.

Now how are we going to get it out when we--someday--move?