A Big Purple Couch
Over the last week or so, I've been helping my friend Allen move. I used to live in 571 University, which was a tiny one-bedroom sliced out of a 19th-century mansion house. Everything besides the bedroom was an enclosed second-story porch, with an open porch below and an open porch above. Basically, we were suspended like raindrops on a spiderweb between two sets of thin columns.
When we first got the apartment, and we were putting stuff on top of the cabinets like the decorative bastards we are, we discovered that some things would fit quite well on one end of the cabinet, but would bump against the ceiling on the other end. We originally thought that the cabinets were hung crooked, which weirded us out. However, after a bit of time with the level, we discovered that the cabinets and counter were perfectly straight, having been hung to true level. It was the floor itself which was sloping at a staggering degree towards the outer wall. Water spilled on the ground would race towards the window; items left on the ground for a moment would roll wildly and randomly until ending up out of reach. It was insecure at best.
I felt very insecure there. It was not a great area, and the locks didn't work, and the floor was tilty, and we were stuck between two huge gaps supported by columns. The place shook like a poorly-built bridge in any sort of wind, and storms would rattle the windows. The windows were another problem; they were designed in this unique way where you could only have one window on each wall open, or else they would swing into one another, and cut swathes out of the space. Therefore, despite a preponderance of exposing windows, we were left without a breeze in the worst parts of July and August.
Sequestered into the bedroom with our barely-functioning air conditioner someone left behind when moving out, we discovered that that room was malevolent at best. We had nightmares, and horrible depressions, and sat staring for hours at a light fixture which dangled precariously from wires. The same light fixture which was to be repaired before we even moved in. Some five months after we moved in, I put on a pair of gloves and made a gesture towards putting it back up and securing it. After a crackling and a spray of sparks, half the building lost power. I never tried it again.
We moved out, but, in the meantime, our friends Meghan and Allen had moved in to an apartment down the hall. Allen stayed living there for several months after Meghan left despite the enormous expense. Recently, he moved to an open studio apartment in a building just across the street. It's quite nice, and it's very clearly less of a burden to maintain.
The moving was a bitch, though. Allen doesn't have a car, or really the ability to drive legally. His parents tend to be out of bounds when it comes to assistance, and only come to his aid with a car when definitely necessary. It was pretty much left to myself and Tracy to help him as best we could transporting small loads of items via our little sedans. Luckily, the trip was a short one, and there was no real difficulty moving things slowly down the street strapped to a Hyundai Elantra. All in all, however, the actual move took about four days.
On Monday, Tracy came across a beautiful purple couch in Greece, for a small tidy sum in a Salvation Army.
We have a couch, but it's ugly, it smells like old people and dogs, and it doesn't fit our personality or decor in any conceivable way. It's anathema to our mutual design tastes, and we were glad to see the back of it. However, because I was at work, Tracy didn't feel comfortable putting down payment on it until she knew what I thought.
Well, of course I agreed that it was beautiful and I wanted it. Unfortunately, it was now out in Greece, and we were not. Everyone we know out in Greece is just as badly-off as we were, and none of them would have been able to make a difference. By the time I enlisted help for the actual purchase and moving yesterday, I was informed by the location that they had already sold the purple couch.
Sitting on our terrible smelly couch now is an every-day lesson in that weird difference between reckless and impulsive.
When we first got the apartment, and we were putting stuff on top of the cabinets like the decorative bastards we are, we discovered that some things would fit quite well on one end of the cabinet, but would bump against the ceiling on the other end. We originally thought that the cabinets were hung crooked, which weirded us out. However, after a bit of time with the level, we discovered that the cabinets and counter were perfectly straight, having been hung to true level. It was the floor itself which was sloping at a staggering degree towards the outer wall. Water spilled on the ground would race towards the window; items left on the ground for a moment would roll wildly and randomly until ending up out of reach. It was insecure at best.
I felt very insecure there. It was not a great area, and the locks didn't work, and the floor was tilty, and we were stuck between two huge gaps supported by columns. The place shook like a poorly-built bridge in any sort of wind, and storms would rattle the windows. The windows were another problem; they were designed in this unique way where you could only have one window on each wall open, or else they would swing into one another, and cut swathes out of the space. Therefore, despite a preponderance of exposing windows, we were left without a breeze in the worst parts of July and August.
Sequestered into the bedroom with our barely-functioning air conditioner someone left behind when moving out, we discovered that that room was malevolent at best. We had nightmares, and horrible depressions, and sat staring for hours at a light fixture which dangled precariously from wires. The same light fixture which was to be repaired before we even moved in. Some five months after we moved in, I put on a pair of gloves and made a gesture towards putting it back up and securing it. After a crackling and a spray of sparks, half the building lost power. I never tried it again.
We moved out, but, in the meantime, our friends Meghan and Allen had moved in to an apartment down the hall. Allen stayed living there for several months after Meghan left despite the enormous expense. Recently, he moved to an open studio apartment in a building just across the street. It's quite nice, and it's very clearly less of a burden to maintain.
The moving was a bitch, though. Allen doesn't have a car, or really the ability to drive legally. His parents tend to be out of bounds when it comes to assistance, and only come to his aid with a car when definitely necessary. It was pretty much left to myself and Tracy to help him as best we could transporting small loads of items via our little sedans. Luckily, the trip was a short one, and there was no real difficulty moving things slowly down the street strapped to a Hyundai Elantra. All in all, however, the actual move took about four days.
On Monday, Tracy came across a beautiful purple couch in Greece, for a small tidy sum in a Salvation Army.
We have a couch, but it's ugly, it smells like old people and dogs, and it doesn't fit our personality or decor in any conceivable way. It's anathema to our mutual design tastes, and we were glad to see the back of it. However, because I was at work, Tracy didn't feel comfortable putting down payment on it until she knew what I thought.
Well, of course I agreed that it was beautiful and I wanted it. Unfortunately, it was now out in Greece, and we were not. Everyone we know out in Greece is just as badly-off as we were, and none of them would have been able to make a difference. By the time I enlisted help for the actual purchase and moving yesterday, I was informed by the location that they had already sold the purple couch.
Sitting on our terrible smelly couch now is an every-day lesson in that weird difference between reckless and impulsive.