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R. Linda:
Since Uncle Boris told me I could redecorate as long as I didn't remove things and start hanging posters of Britney Spears on the walls, I have been breaking me poor back pushing heavy furniture about. I have nothing against Russian baroque furnishings, but it is not me taste.
As you already know, I bought a simple set of Irish country chairs and a table for me small sunny space by the window. I thought to get a small settee and coffee table and place them where the killer hassock and Uncle Boris's overstuffed leather armchair were. There is a low table there with claw feet that used to sport about 500 of the millions of eggs in the room, and it reminds me of the eggs, so I wanted to move it behind the overstuffed sofa (which I did). I went back to that shop that Know-it-all Sue took me to. There I found a Queen Anne coffee table and a small settee that is an American-made colonial piece. Well, R. Linda, they both look enough like home I decided to purchase.
I hailed meself a taxi and stunned the driver that I wanted to bring me items in his cab. He was not for it, but a little extra cash and he couldn't have been more helpful in helping me heave the settee into the boot of his car. The shop owner provided some rope and we tethered that baby so it wouldn't fall out. You should know the streets are nothing but car-bottoming out hills where I live and I could very well imagine me new purchase being hoisted forty feet into the air and landing like a balloon filled with water, whap! Busted to wee pieces all over the place. The cabbie assured me in his broken English that the settee would not move an inch.
We then tried to get the coffee table into the back seat. It isn't encouraged for a taxi passenger to sit in the front seat with the driver, but that was going to have to happen because the table took up the entire back.
We got the furnishings home with no problem. I got the coffee table out of the back nicking a leg, but it was not too bad, a little blueberry jam on it and no one would know. The settee was another story. The cab driver was busy untying it while I took the table inside. By the time I got back, he had it unstrung and the two of us nearly put our backs out trying to un-wedge it from the boot of the cab. Once down in the street, the driver gave me his hand in good luck getting it inside. He was staring up the steep stairs looking like he was glad he didn't have to help me with the furniture. Now, R. Linda, there was no way I could get it inside by myself. I knew he wasn't about to offer to help so flashing a $50 bill I told him I'd make it worth his while to help me. He informed me he was a cab driver, not a furniture mover. I sighed and found me last $20 and held it with the $50. He said for $75 he'd do it. Oi!
I gave up the last $5 I had, paid the fare (almost cleaning out my wallet), and the two of us started the struggle up the stone steps to the abode. I should tell you there is a gate with a low fence that surrounds the place and lots and lots of outdoor lights that are like twenty feet apart all the way up. These lights make it look even longer to the front door than it is. They don't hide the steep slope of the place and the stairs, they actually enhance it. I had not thought about lifting heavy furniture up those steps, so you can imagine me surprise when we got to the third of the first twenty and we stopped for breath and a better hold. The cabbie's face was beet red and we were both sweating like pigs in blankets and we weren't even near conquering the stairs.
R. Linda:
Since Uncle Boris told me I could redecorate as long as I didn't remove things and start hanging posters of Britney Spears on the walls, I have been breaking me poor back pushing heavy furniture about. I have nothing against Russian baroque furnishings, but it is not me taste.
As you already know, I bought a simple set of Irish country chairs and a table for me small sunny space by the window. I thought to get a small settee and coffee table and place them where the killer hassock and Uncle Boris's overstuffed leather armchair were. There is a low table there with claw feet that used to sport about 500 of the millions of eggs in the room, and it reminds me of the eggs, so I wanted to move it behind the overstuffed sofa (which I did). I went back to that shop that Know-it-all Sue took me to. There I found a Queen Anne coffee table and a small settee that is an American-made colonial piece. Well, R. Linda, they both look enough like home I decided to purchase.
I hailed meself a taxi and stunned the driver that I wanted to bring me items in his cab. He was not for it, but a little extra cash and he couldn't have been more helpful in helping me heave the settee into the boot of his car. The shop owner provided some rope and we tethered that baby so it wouldn't fall out. You should know the streets are nothing but car-bottoming out hills where I live and I could very well imagine me new purchase being hoisted forty feet into the air and landing like a balloon filled with water, whap! Busted to wee pieces all over the place. The cabbie assured me in his broken English that the settee would not move an inch.
We then tried to get the coffee table into the back seat. It isn't encouraged for a taxi passenger to sit in the front seat with the driver, but that was going to have to happen because the table took up the entire back.
We got the furnishings home with no problem. I got the coffee table out of the back nicking a leg, but it was not too bad, a little blueberry jam on it and no one would know. The settee was another story. The cab driver was busy untying it while I took the table inside. By the time I got back, he had it unstrung and the two of us nearly put our backs out trying to un-wedge it from the boot of the cab. Once down in the street, the driver gave me his hand in good luck getting it inside. He was staring up the steep stairs looking like he was glad he didn't have to help me with the furniture. Now, R. Linda, there was no way I could get it inside by myself. I knew he wasn't about to offer to help so flashing a $50 bill I told him I'd make it worth his while to help me. He informed me he was a cab driver, not a furniture mover. I sighed and found me last $20 and held it with the $50. He said for $75 he'd do it. Oi!
I gave up the last $5 I had, paid the fare (almost cleaning out my wallet), and the two of us started the struggle up the stone steps to the abode. I should tell you there is a gate with a low fence that surrounds the place and lots and lots of outdoor lights that are like twenty feet apart all the way up. These lights make it look even longer to the front door than it is. They don't hide the steep slope of the place and the stairs, they actually enhance it. I had not thought about lifting heavy furniture up those steps, so you can imagine me surprise when we got to the third of the first twenty and we stopped for breath and a better hold. The cabbie's face was beet red and we were both sweating like pigs in blankets and we weren't even near conquering the stairs.
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| The stairs |
"How much does this thing weigh?" He asked me struggling to wipe his brow and hold onto the settee with the other hand.
"Got me, mate," I said trying to be all bravado so he wouldn't notice I was thinking my purchase was not such a good idea.
We counted to three and heaved the piece up and made it four more steps before he asked for mercy and put it down to rest.
While we rested, I found out his name was Ahmed, he was from Saudi Arabia and came to the U.S. "Just for the hell of it." Well, R. Linda, I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Was I standing on the steps with an agent of Al Qaeda? Were there explosives in the cab, or worse was he sporting them under the shirt of his ample waist? I started sweating profusely now.
"What's your name again?" he asked.
I had never told him my name and I swallowed hard and squeaked out, "My name is Guy." Don't ask.
"Guy what?"
I thought why would he need to know my last name?
"Guy Nothomeallday." Ok, ok, I know but it was a subconscious thing on my part that if he heard -- not home all day -- he'd not come back. Stupid I know.
He looked up the stairs and then stared at me, "You know this is not worth $75.00 and hernias."
I knew he was going to turn tail because it really wasn't and because I wanted the settee more than I valued my life, I said, "$125.00."
"Done."
We counted to three and heaved again covering three more stairs before we had to place the settee down. By now we were both soaked in sweat.
"Do you have something to drink, GuyNothomeallday?"
I almost didn't answer until I remembered I was Guy and funny how he said the whole name and not just Guy. So I asked him if he could balance the thing on his own, I'd run up and get us some lemonade that I had chilled. He said sarcastically that that would be nice of me and yes, he thought he could hold onto the settee, just not to be long because it would be a real shame it goes tumbling down the stone steps.
After making sure he had his hold I ran up and in record time, got the lemonades wondering if I should lace his with the contents of the ant traps that Nadia had in the cabinet, and if Ahmed was stuffing me settee cushions with plastique while I wasn't looking.
He seemed to have not moved from where I left him and we had a bit of a struggle with the lemonade glasses, me handing him one end of the settee, me grabbing onto my end and balancing me lemonade glass in the other. So like two nitwits, we stood some 13 steps up (I know unlucky number of steps), holding onto the settee and trying to sip lemonade.
"We look like two old ladies you know this?" He said laughing.
I almost spit my lemonade out, the remark was unexpected and as bizarrely funny as the situation was and I started laughing. This got him laughing more and we almost lost the settee because we were riddled with humour at a bad moment. Somehow we managed to hold onto the thing.
"Ok, twenty-seven more steps. Shall we do this thing GuyNothomeallday?"
There it was again, the whole name. I knew then he knew that I lied about me moniker and his sneer was like a dagger to me heart. I counted to three to keep from having to explain meself.
We made it up and over the threshold and inside. With a slight crash, the settee hit the floor, such was our muscle reaction to success. He stood their mouth gapping open in stunned silence. The place was dark even though the sunlight outside was blinding.
I dug the rest of his payment out of me pay envelope (cleaning me out), and stuffed it in his shirt pocket since I could see he was paying me no mind. Once over his shock, I asked him if he wanted more lemonade. He nodded patting his shirt pocket with an unconscious movement as if he was making sure his heart was still beating. I left him like that and went for two new glasses (I wasn't about to run down those steps for the others we left on step eighty-two).
When I came back and handed him the fresh glass he smiled slyly at me and said, "You know GuyNothomeallday, this looks like a place for covert activities."
My glass was halfway to my mouth when me hand froze in midair.
"Huh?" I blurted, thinking I was right about the man.
"You have to lighten up GuyNothomeallday. I'm joking. I can see you think I'm some enemy agent. I'd like to fulfil your fantasy and give you something to talk about. But alas, I am a cabbie and now a part-time moving guy, Guy. But you, looking at this place, I have to wonder if you are some Russian agent bent on bringing back the Soviet system of government."
I stood there dumbfounded. What I thought of him, he thought of me!
He smiled broadly, his teeth very white in his dark face enjoying my discomfort.
"You have a taste for baroque? I hate to say this, but this place gives me the creeps. You can move this thing on your own?"
I smiled because he had the same impression I did when first I saw it by daylight if you can say there is daylight inside. I nodded as he drained the lemonade shoving the glass in my hand.
"Ok, I'm going back to my easy job, I will leave the table at the bottom of the steps. Good luck with the furniture." He turned and started out, then turned slightly, "GuyNothomeallday, I'm Ahmed Nothereeither." He did that swirly movement with his hand from his heart on up to his head in that classic Arab salutation and chuckled to himself as he left me enjoying the cool breeze coming in through the open front door, ice in both glasses chilling me aching fingers. I felt like a bloody fool for being so mistrustful. But then I realised he had the entire contents of me wallet and then I didn't feel so bad. I slid the settee over and then after a short rest went back down to fetch the coffee table and the lemonade glasses.
Gabe
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