The phone has rung three times, and no one is answering.
One more.
“Hey, baby.”
I need you to come home.
“Right now? What’s wrong?”
Can you start driving now?
“Jessica, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
No. It’s an emergency.
I can hear the springs on the couch as he sits up. “Jessica.”
I can’t put this shelf together by myself… I can’t even get it upstairs.
“Jessica.”
I don’t even know if I can get it out of my car.
“Jessica.”
I…
“Jessica.”
What?
“Do I have to explain to you what constitutes an emergency?”
Do I have to explain to you what constitutes an emergency?
“I’m not driving three hours to put together a shelf.”
If you drive fast, it won’t take three hours.
“Jessica.”
Nick, the box is huge. It’s a foot longer than me. It weighs 57 pounds.
“Fifty seven pounds? What kind of shelving did you buy?”
It’s from Ikea.
“Please tell me you didn’t… how did you get it into your car?”
I shoved it in there.
“Jessica.”
You’re saying my name a lot. That doesn’t get you here to help me get this shelving in or put it together.
“Jessica.”
Okay.
“I cannot – I will not – drive back to help you put shelving together. Just wait until your dad gets home.”
But I want to bring it in now, so he doesn’t have to do it later.
“I’m sure he’d rather help you bring it in than find you laying on the floor of the garage with a fifty seven pound shelf on top of you. Fifty se… geez, Jess. How’d you know it weighed that much anyway?”
It says so on the box.
“Well, at least they warn you.”
Are you on your way?
“Jessica.”
You’re not on your way.
“No.”
I’m going to have to do this by myself.
He’s sighing. “Unless you want to wait for your dad, which you refuse to do, yes. You’re going to have to do this by yourself.”
Fine.
“Fine. I love you.”
I love you.
I can’t figure out how to get the six and a half foot box out of my car. I’m beginning to wonder how I got it in in the first place. I can’t do this. I need two people. Or two mobile… somethings. I will be one something, and a rolling chair will be my other something. But a rolling chair can’t get the stupid shelf out of the car.
I push, I pull, I shove and practically scream at the stupid box until it budges. It moves an inch. I need more than an inch to get it out of the car, through the garage, upstairs, and assembled.
It’s out, half on the rolling chair, half in my arms. I push, it falls. This repeats itself for quite some time.
In the house.
I stand the massive box on its end and concoct a plan to flip it over on itself onto another stair, and repeat until it lands in the loft. The first attempt at this fails miserably as the end slides off the appointed stair and down to the very floor from which I started. Plan B ensues. I hold one end of the box and walk the other end up the stairs, praying it doesn’t slip and crush me. I’m going to die.
Finally the box has been moved up sixteen stairs and a landing. I call Nick.
It’s upstairs.
“Are you all right?”
No. Whomever put this in the “self-service” section of the store, I’m going to find and kill with a stud finder.
“You know a stud finder isn’t like a nail gun, Jess. You can’t kill someone with it… you’d have better luck punching them.”
Maybe you can’t kill someone with it… Blunt force trauma.
“Jessica.”
Okay.
“I’m proud of you for dragging that whole thing in by yourself.”
What else am I going to do when you refuse to help me?
“Jessica.”
Thank you.
3 Comments
August 23, 2008 at 9:28 pm
Ugh. I was believing and picturing both of y’all saying those things the whole time. Don’t do that to me!!
August 29, 2008 at 7:03 pm
Oh my word! I was laughing so hard, and was truly believing every word of it haha…a good story though! It made my morning better
October 7, 2008 at 11:54 am
[...] Nick, it’s a shower curtain rod. It’s not shelf hanging. [...]