09 February 2007

10 sofas & the city

there are things the proverbial they don't tell you about the city. such as the fact that getting rid of a sofa in the city is a hell of a hard trick.

i recently moved, and in this move i inherited this sofa. a sofa that i didn't need and that the salvation army refused to salvage. i've spent the past three weeks plotting legitimate ways to save the life of this sofa. but then, when the man from the white elephant haughtily said we don't do 4th floors, i realized something.

this sofa had to die.

certain times call for certain measures- sometimes desperate, mildly psychotic measures. killing a sofa may sound a little extreme, but i swear- this sofa wanted to die.

i had some tools. they were girlie tools, but tools nonetheless. so i dug about in the big red box for something to kill the sofa dead. this digging led to the realization that my tool priorities were all wrong. who needs two levels and three glue guns?

there were screwdrivers aplenty, and clamps and pliers galore, but the only saw was comparable to a butter knife. my enthusiasm for euthanizing the sofa was somewhat dimmed by this. but i was a girl with a mission. a girl with a sofa to kill.

for an hour, i sawed as though my life depended upon it- whittling, with all the fury i could muster, one centimeter into a one inch piece of wood. it was like trying to slice bologna with a bobby pin. thus, the plan of attack was revamped.

i paraded through the sludge to purchase a new saw, and learned the invaluable lesson that if you stand in the hand tools aisle of home depot wearing a pink scarf- the 19-year-old male workers will come out of the woodwork in droves to assist you.

but i wasn't there for a date. i was there for a saw. a saw that would let me kill this couch like a man. a saw that would allow for death with dignity, not hapless, shoddy slaughter.

ultimately, the actual killing of the couch was anticlimactic (and i do speak in haste- at present it's only mostly dead). the removal of the upholstery turned out to be the biggest bother. there were inner pockets of popcorn, pens, movie tickets, and receipts that led me to realize you can probably learn a person's entire life story simply by dismantling all their furniture.

admittedly, this experience has left me with a rather overfondness for the sound of cracking wood, which would deeply sadden my woodworking grandfather. but it's such a moment of small victory. the coming apart of something when you're so ready to see it go away. when you've spent three weeks being thwarted in its going away and finally determine to take matters into your own hands.

because when no one will salvage you from shit, you have to salvage yourself. and sometimes, sofas must die.


Meggie said...

So the secret to getting help in man-friendly places is a pink scarf??? I've had it all wrong with the grey scarf!!

I took my car in to get the front end aligned (Mike said something about it screwing up parts under the hood *shrugs*) and I told the guy it was steering crooked and he asked if I tested it on a straight road!

oline said...

seriously, the pink scarf was magical in drawing assistance- though it didn't exactly communicate my newfound vast knowledge of reciprocating saws.

Les Savy Ferd said...

you'll be sorry when the dead return to to walk the land of the living and you wake up one morning, stumble bleary-eyed out of your bedroom and find two slavering halves of undead couch occupying your once quaint living room, feasting on the stuffing of your red couch.

oline said...

in my haste to slaughter, i failed to account for the eternal ramifications my actions might have upon the red couch at the time of rapture. good God, what have i done?

Linda said...

Couch Sematary... be careful where you dump the thing!

(and not to revert back to the lesbian thing, but I bet you looked HAWT with that big saw!)

oline said...

think i was much HAWTer when i dragged the guts out to the dumpster while wearing pink galoshes.

(i'm not surprised that you would revert back to the lesbian thing, lesbianda. remember rochelle?!)

*~JoDi~* said...

I love it! ;-D

Luckily, for me, out here in Arizona, all you have to do is leave it on the curbside. I don't care WHAT condition it's in, SOMEONE will take it, guaranteed.

oline said...

it's the four flights of stairs. they're the dealbreaker.

Unknown said...

ah, my sofa. it had a good hard life, it did. I'm sorry you were thwarted in your attempts to offload it humanely. when I initially inherited from wherever the hell it came from, there was a remote control trapped inside. go figure.

oline said...

as i was escorting him to his eternal rest, the sofa did reflect upon his good hard life. he seemed quite content. and his death made a good story so he has the satisfaction of that!