Furniture

Recently, I ordered some furniture online for our enclosed back porch--two cabinets and a buffet. About a week later, I returned home one afternoon to find three large boxes on my front porch. I was so excited; I couldn't wait to put it in place.

Unfortunately, there were a few obstacles standing between me and my dream. Obstacle one: each box weighed at least eighty pounds (I know this because it was marked on the box along with a picture of a little guy holding his side and mouthing "hernia"), and I was alone. Still, I gave it my best shot; after all, I take yoga which builds strength and muscle. I managed to move the one box about three inches before my strength and muscles were both demanding I get the heating pad and sit on the couch with a nice cup of tea and maybe some cookies.

Perhaps I should just put the furniture out on the front porch instead. It would give it that welcoming touch. It would make a statement: the Clampets live here. Come in and set for a spell. After that, you can go for a dip in the ceement pond. Okay, maybe not.

Fortunately, inspiration struck and I remembered a dolley we had down in the basement. Perfect. This would be easy. And except for the two doorways the flight of steps it was a piece of cake. (Okay, there are actually only three steps. but it felt like more).

By now I was exhausted, frustrated and sweaty and I hadn't even opened the boxes and confronted the real problem. Did I forget to mention obstacle number two (three if you count the two doorways and flight of stairs, which I do): the furniture was unassembled, a little fact they failed to mention when I purchased it. (It actually said, "some assembly required", which I foolishly assumed meant putting the knobs on the doors and maybe sliding the drawers into the cabinet.)

I figured I was in trouble when I saw the flat boxes, but I was really hoping that somehow the furniture might be inflatable, like one of those rafts where you pull the cord and presto! you have seating for eight. I guess I should have taken shop in high school instead of wasting my time on silly things like Math and Science.

Armed with a kitchen knife, I pried open the first box---the buffet--and dragged out all two thousand pieces. Naturally, the directions and hardware were at the very bottom of the box (I should have known better than to trust the "this end up" stamp after the whole "some assembly" fiasco, but my brain was still reeling from the giant jigsaw puzzle lying before me.

Which brings us to obstacle four: many of the parts were not labeled and I was missing several pieces of hardware. I now had two choices. I could call the 800 number and ask for the missing pieces (okay, no so much ask as whine and bitch), meanwhile assembling the buffet as far as I could, or I could try to unring a bell and put the pieces back in the box. (Did I say I needed a shop class? How about an advanced degree in engineering.)

After much debate (all right, not so much debate as ranting and kicking the box and its contents a few dozen times), I went with option one, which brings us to obstacle five: automated menus. The least they could do after so much aggravation is have somebody in India answer the call and pretend to care! But no. You have to listen to a machine offer you credit cards, additional furniture, timeshares in Botswana and an online degree in rocket science (you see, even they know this stuff is impossible to do!)

Finally, I got to speak to a real, live person, who assured me that I would be sent the missing parts---within a week!!!!! No, problem. I'll just leave giant planks of wood spread all over my back porch for the next few days. It will give it that lived in look (did I say Clampets? How about L'il Abner?)

The followimg Monday, a small envelope arrived in the mail with my missing parts...several of which were incorrect. SHop? engineering? rocket science? Maybe what I actually needed was a degree in Physciatry to help me cope with my nervous breakdown!