Not For Hire: Me as truck driver, furniture mover, handyman

The good news is I finally have some furniture: the aforementioned on-sale dark brown leather couch and loveseat.

The bad news is everything it took out of me to get there. Originally, I was worried about price. By the time the furniture finally reached their resting places in my living room, their financial burden was the least of my concerns.

The first test came in the form of driving the 14’ U-Haul truck from the U-Haul rental to Sofa Mart and from Sofa Mart to my apartment. It’s important to note that I drive a Hyundai Accent. Before that, I drove an old Honda Civic. Essentially, I went from posting up my little brother to being stared down by Shaq in his prime. So, yes, I was a bit intimidated by the sheer size and power of the thing.

Another aspect of driving that I overlooked until this experience: the value of the rearview mirror. Big trucks like this don’t have them because (obviously) there’s a big storage space where my vision would be. So there I was, dwarfed in the driver’s seat of this truck, trying to merge into rush hour traffic on I-79 in between a semi and what looked like a Matchbox car from my perch.

After conquering the driving issue, I thought the rest of the furniture move would run smoothly. Wrong.

Getting the furniture from Sofa Mart to my apartment building was no problem. Getting the furniture from the truck up to my apartment was like trying to get Al Davis to retain a head coach. (For a more lengthy Raiders rant, read my thoughts here.)

The only way up to my apartment is up a narrow staircase. I knew this going in. Yet I still bought the furniture with a that had essentially identical width to that of the staircase.

With the help of my brothers Mike and Jeff, the loveseat made it up relatively smoothly. The couch was a different story. We had it about halfway up when we realized it wasn’t budging. We had one brother on each end and a third underneath it as It hung in mid-air, floating above the stairs and wedged between the walls of the staircase.

We tried everything: pushing, pulling, lifting, twisting, rotating. At one point we actually made some progress only to realize the doorway at the top was imperfectly aligned with the stairs. And there was no wiggle room.

Now covered in sweat and getting some dirty looks of “What the hell are you guys doing?” from fellow tenants forced to take the other staircase—yes, it’s equally narrow—the three of us were running out of strength, patience and ideas. It was a valiant effort, but it was time to make the call.

Dad would know what to do! Only no one answered at home. And his cell went to voicemail as well. Crap.

I stood dejectedly at the top of the staircase after crawling underneath the still-stuck couch. My brothers stood below, equally pessimistic about our chances of getting this couch through the doorway.

Just when I thought all hope was lost I heard a familiar voice. “Hello! Is someone up there?” It was my mom. And my sister Molly. And most importantly given the situation, my dad. Like analogies? Dad is to handyman as Batman is to hero.

He observed the situation, formulated a plan and went to work. The gist of it was to slide the couch back down the stairs, which wasn’t easy. Then, unwrap the cardboard and plastic wrap. Then, remove the seat cushions and rotate the couch so that the flexible top cushions were on the same side as the door at the top of the stairs. With all that done, the re-ascension began and, it wasn’t easy, but it made it through!

In the aftermath of the move, I immediately felt some serious soreness in my upper back/lower neck. I woke today with soreness in places that I didn’t even know I had places. Of course, pain tolerance has never been my calling card.

I grew up dreaming of being a professional basketball player. But I’m pretty convinced by now that was born to do nothing more physical than what I do now: writing. To the world’s truck drivers, furniture movers and maintenance men—including the one who will be fixing the railing we accidentally dislodged amid our couch moving struggle—I salute you.

And to my family, thanks for all the help yesterday. From the brotherly bonding to dad’s never-failing Mr. Fix It ability and from mom’s purchases that now make cooking a viable option to Molly’s hello note on my fridge, thanks.

Now that the furniture (minus the recliner, which should be in next week) is finally in my place, it looks great. And as my family sat in it for the first time, I thought for just a second, for the first time, it really felt like home. Print this post