Zack Newcott
I’m not sure why I thought I could move a couch by myself, but years ago I did manage to remove my shoelace from a moving escalator without losing my life so I assumed I was capable of anything. The couch in question was a dirty one that we found for free on the side of the road. Who knows how long it had been there, but Beth decided we were more than capable of removing the several added pounds of black dog hair that had been shed over every crevice and make it suitable within our home. At least I desperately hope it was dog hair.
“Careful!” Beth yelled as I began to roll it into the street. “You’ll get it dirty!”
“Really Beth?” I replied. “You really think I’ll get it more dirty?”
As far as I saw it, every move only helped to remove another thick cloud of dust.
Taking it out of the car was simple enough, and my bright idea from then on out was to simply roll the couch length-wise from the street, up the stairs, and safely through the front door of our apartment. Pushing it up for the first time, I was surprised to find that the small tear in the upholstery had been stuffed full of what I imagined at the time to be dead raccoons. Or worse, living raccoons.
In fear of disturbing their nest, I decided I should be more careful, this however meant moving the couch with a more dainty approach not suitable for a one-person job. Thankfully a passer-by came to the rescue.
A young man with headphones stopped in his tracks and asked if I needed any help. Myself, coming from Los Angeles, was not used to such kind gestures and immediately assumed the worst.
“Here’s my wallet!” I screamed, “Just don’t stab me in the face.”
Unwilling to take a wallet filled with nothing but fortune cookie wrappers and IOU’s, the boy helped me carry it up the first flights of stairs. Afraid to enter my apartment he mumbled something and ran off into the distance.
I continued to wrestle the smelly mass into the apartment, but having only arrived a few feet closer to my destination I succeeded only in tearing my sweater and getting another mouthful of dog hair. Again to my surprise an older gentleman having dinner at the Thai restaurant across the street came to my assistance. This time I had more confidence that I would not be robbed or maimed and took him up on the offer. Now no longer caring for the well-being of said raccoons, we both rolled the couch into my living room.
I had often heard of the kindness of strangers, but having experienced it first hand I now know that it does in fact exist. True, you might have to look pretty pitiful, but if you manage to swallow your pride and take a helping hand, you too might be able to reap of benefits of soaking a dog-hair covered couch in laundry detergent for the next eight hours in a desperate attempt to make the smell go away – a couch, I might add, that you could never move on your own.
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