I should charge a delivery fee...and maybe get therapy.

This morning, instead of making the 30 minute commute to work, I drove to my mother in law's work downtown, left my Nissan Sentra in her parking lot, and traded vehicles with her. A Nissan Sentra? Cute and little. The vehicle I traded for? Monstrous. I needed something to haul furniture for my office, so she'd driven in my father in law's humongous, extended cab, bad-at-turning-and-requires-two-backups-to-every-sharp-turn F250 Chevy pickup. And it was hard enough getting it out of her parking lot. Unfortunately, I also had to drive it to the biggest hospital downtown. The hospital keeps a "boneyard" full of discarded furniture from past remodels in its basement, so if you know about it you can make an appointment and go peruse the collection (which is primarily of a turquoise, mauve, and bright pink designation) to pick out that overstuffed bright green waiting room chair you've always wanted. Okay, really, sometimes there are some good finds, and since it's a donation only setup, very very cheap. I lucked out and found an octagon conference table and two "seating area" chairs that didn't burn your eye to look at them, but was barely able to pass up the sea green rocking chairs on a spring.

BUT, imagine my chagrin when I had to maneuver the truck OUT of the parking garage, around the hospital complex, and through two loop arounds, the second one requiring two backups, and into the only spot available - a parallel parking spot on a curve. Try that one in a monster truck crushing patients and people in wheelchairs left and right. Alright, I didn't actually run over anyone, but I think I had an audience by the time I finally was parked close enough to the curb that vehicles could squeeze past on the other side. "Squeeze" being the keyword here. Do you know when you drive a truck but don't know how to drive it how many death glares you get? Let me just say from experience: A LOT.

Once parked, my aunt and I met up with the boneyard personnel and "helped" them load the table and chairs. I put my hand on it, pretended to lift and push, and everything. I'm sure I was very, very, VERY helpful. I think I looked better than if I had stood off to the side wringing my hands uselessly. I think....(although I'm quite good at gracefully wringing my hands. It comes in handy for flat tires).

I made it back to the office by noon and unloaded the chairs. Then my boss and I went to grab the table, and now that I was ACTUALLY unloading??! That thing is @$#%^ heavy!! Seriously, I think it's made out of solid oak! (Oak is heavy, right?) And of course no warning from the boneyard boys earlier. "Oh, no, miss, we don't want any money for this....we were going to get rid of it anyway." Sneaky little bastards. Now that it's in my office, there is no way in hell that thing is getting moved around. My whole room setup will just have to maneuver around it - "It provides such a great focal point, don't you think? Yes, I know it's directly in front of the door; I've cleared a path right through this one foot space. If you just suck in a little, you should get through juuust fine."

So, now I have to drive the truck all the way back to my mother in law's office, change cars again, and go home. I'm going to sit on the couch and have a drink to recover from the traumatic experience; there's no way I'll be able to do anything productive. Or maybe I'll just move my desk first....