Deliveries for Days

I just wrote an almost complete blog post and somehow, my ham hands deleted the entire thing. WordPress has an auto-save feature (that I used to think was handy) until I deleted my post and then it autosaved the newly blank document I somehow created. I’m so angry I could spit rivets. This is the first time this has happened to me and boy is it defeating. The last thing I feel like doing right now is writing another post, but I’ll try. Here goes…

As I’ve mentioned, it’s been super busy here of late. Tons of furniture is flying out the door, so with the increasing demanded comes a drastically increasing workload. Since most of the furniture is sold out of Boston, it means we have to paint our back stock in Malden and then transport it back into Boston. Often times we also have to deliver the sold item. So one sale then sets off a three step process just to get back up to par. Not that I’m complaining. This is a great problem to have.

Where most people don’t have an automobile big enough or the man power necessary to carry out large dressers and such, our delivery service is poppin’ off too. Colin has been our delivery stalwart since day one. With great big truck comes great responsibility–I think Spider Man’s uncle Ben said that. In the past, Colin would round up a friend or our stepdad to help, Amy’s gone on deliveries, too, but lately is been the two of us knocking them out.

Last week we made deliveries on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, and this week we’ve already done one on Monday. Usually they run as smooth as silk, but that wasn’t the case on Monday.

While it wasn’t really all that bad, a simple mental error on my part made this one three times as hard as it should’ve been. Yes, I know it’s almost impossible to believe, but even I make mistakes.

A girl named Ivana bought a vanity and mirror combo on Sunday and we arranged delivery for Monday afternoon at 4pm. She told me she lived on Newbury Street to which I replied, “Great.” I love in-city deliveries because whereas Boston is such a small city, we can usually get there from the store within minutes and be done in no time. And then I remembered what Newbury Street is like on a beautiful spring day. Parking is always a nightmare in Boston, let alone smack dab in the middle of the Hub’s retail mecca, where meter maids patrol like ninjas, wielding tickets like nunchucks. One $40 ticket, and the delivery already isn’t worth it. Oh yeah, did I mention that Colin’s truck is enormous? Not exactly a Mini Cooper that can parallel park with ease.

The Huge Red Truck

The Huge Red Truck

Usually, Colin just double parks on Harrison and we load up as fast as possible and head out

Usually, Colin just double parks on Harrison and we load up as fast as possible and head out

This isn't the vanity that this post talks about, but here's your boy posing for a recent delivery

This isn’t the vanity that this post talks about, but here’s your boy, looking disheveled, posing for a recent delivery

Her address was 260, and when we got close, I directed Colin to a side street between Boylston and Newbury, a good little secret Madison showed me when trying to find Back Bay parking. Sure enough, we got a spot that wasn’t too far away. Sure we’d have to haul the vanity by hand and on foot (can we get a dolly?) but it is what is when you’ve got a small family business. Just shut up and get it done.

If you’ve ever been on Newbury Street, you know how packed with pedestrians it is. It’s difficult to navigate on foot as it is, what with dawdling shoppers and oblivious tourists. For that reason I suggested we go down the back alley behind her building. It would force us to walk a little over an extra block, but at least we would be able to do so unimpeded and therefore it would likely take us less time anyway.

Hancock Tower from Boylston

Hancock Tower from Boylston

So we’re walking and carrying, and the not-so-heavy piece starts to get heavier and heavier, but we were getting close. We’d have about a half a block of dealing with dopey pedestrians, but Colin was good at directing me as I was walking backwards, arms growing tired. We even got a few shouts of encouragement from passersby. Finally, we made it to 260 and set the vanity down for a quick rest and to open the gate and call Ivana to let us in. I walked up the building, surveyed the scene, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. She doesn’t live here. I don’t know why it hit me then, but not before–her address was 360 not two damn sixty. Shit.

The kid with the chicken legs dejectedly standing at the wrong address

The kid with the chicken legs dejectedly standing at the wrong address

I sheepishly admitted my eff up to Colin, and to his credit he didn’t give me hell for it. We took a beat to compose ourselves mentally and phyisically and realized we’d now have to travel a hundred buildings up, on the jammed sidewalks we so desperately tried to avoid. Just shut up and get it done. Did I mention it was hot & humid? Oh yeah, sweat beading up on my forehead and forearms, we were weaving in and out of people like a video game, trying not to trip over the uneven sidewalks. Colin said we should take a break when we get to 320 and I couldn’t have agreed more. The whole experience was reminiscent of football practice back when I was in high school. It reminded of doing agility or tackling drills under the hot sun that seem to have no end in sight. You start to fantasize about being done, but it never seems like you’ll be done, and it’s all you can think about. But then, suddenly, you are done and you say, “that wasn’t that bad after all.” That was the case when we finally reached 360. We took the elevator up into her air conditioned apartment and set the piece down and were on our way. We kind of laughed at my idiotic move and were pleased with another piece sold and delivered. Day over. Miller time.

Then I remembered that I only put fifty cents in the meter thinking a half hour would be plenty of time to make our delivery. It would’ve been had I not taken us on a walking tour of Newbury. I knew our time limit was up at 4:56. It was now 4:59. Argh. Colin said, “should we run?” I don’t even think I answered and we were off, hauling ass down another alley to get back to the truck. After all that, a $40 ticket would’ve really been a punch to the gut. We ran up on the truck, and I was craning my neck looking for the anger-inducing, bright orange slips of paper they tuck under your windshield wiper. There wasn’t one. No ticket. Crisis averted.

"Doing stupid things makes me tired."

“Doing stupid things makes me tired.”

I was glad to be out of the potential doghouse and finally, we were really done. We got a funny story out of the deal and everyone was happy. Colin and I will be back on the road Friday morning before I open to deliver the Green Line dresser I painted earlier this month. And it’s a local delivery right in the city. Nice and easy, just how I like it.

I’m sure I’ll get the address right…


10 thoughts on “Deliveries for Days

  1. That’s the funniest story I’ve heard in a very long time. Sorry, but is is funny. If you change careers(which I hope you never do) You’d be a great comic! Love your posts!

  2. Some days are frustrating. I also have lost complete emails, so what I do now is save every few lines. Do this and it will be come a habit. Blessings

    • No, we broke it guaranteeing 7 years of bad luck. (Kidding. Yes, when we got back to the truck, we drove over, colin double parked and I ran it up and was back in 30 seconds.

    • Glad to hear you’re alright Nita–our thoughts are out to everyone in Oklahoma affected by the tornado

      Sent from my iPhone

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